The Tune of Bullets
by Bad Faery
Summary: Western AU- Everyone in town is afraid of the notorious gunslinger Mr. Gold. Saloon-worker Belle sees things differently.
1. Chapter 1

Belle French swept through the closely-set tables, her ruffled skirts brushing the backs of rough-hewn chairs as she balanced a tray of dirty glasses in one hand, her other tight around the neck of a whiskey bottle as she circulated, keeping the regulars' drinks coming. She traded a smile with Ruby who was working the other side of the room, shaking her head as she noticed the other girl's bodice had slipped even lower than her usual wont, displaying a precarious amount of cleavage. If she knew her friend, the slippage had been completely intentional seeing how Pastor Hopper had just entered the busy saloon. Belle wouldn't have thought displaying skin was the way to a man of the cloth's heart, but he certainly couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Nearly every table was full except for a small oasis of calm near the back of the room in Ruby's domain. There Mr. Gold sat with his back to the wall, clad in his customary black, hat tilted low over his eyes as he surveyed the room. The trio of tables surrounding him stood empty although nearly every other table in the saloon held at least three patrons. It was a testament to how feared the notorious gunfighter was that no one would come closer.

Even Ruby, who wasn't afraid of anything, wouldn't get near him, so Belle included his table in her own rounds, approaching the man with a smile. Gold's reputation was terrifying, but in the months she'd worked at the saloon he'd never been less than gentlemanly with her. "More whiskey, Mr. Gold?"

He nodded slowly, watching with the unwavering focus of a natural-born predator as she refilled his glass, careful not to spill a drop. "Thank you, Miss Belle," he murmured, saluting her with it before downing the burning liquid in one go. She poured again before resuming her rounds, chatting with the farmhands and ranchers that comprised their little town.

Reluctantly she made her way to a shadowed table in the corner, the only other table beside Mr. Gold's that held only one patron, a man face down on the unfinished wood, seemingly asleep. Quietly, she tried to take his glass, flinching when a large hand caught her wrist. "Leave the bottle, girl."

Belle licked her lips nervously, flexing her fingers to keep him from cutting off her circulation, "Papa, don't you think you've had enough?"

Moe French looked up at her blearily, only now seeming to register that he knew her. "Belle, be a dear and bring your papa another drink." He released his grip on her, watching greedily as she poured the whiskey into his dirty glass.

It was hard to believe this man had once been the town doctor, a man as respected as the pastor. No one now would trust him even to treat a case of saddle sores, his drunken state responsible for their greatly-reduced straits. Belle had heard the laughs that she'd taken this job so she could keep an eye on her father in his _real_ home. In truth, it had more to do with the fact that Ruby's grandmother fed her while her father drank her wages.

"Looks like the old man's had too much, Belle!" George Clary chuckled as she refilled his glass.

She manufactured a polite smile, neatly sidestepping his groping hand. "When are you going to leave this behind and come be my wife? You'll only have to pour drinks for one then."

"Now, George..." she chided, but this time she wasn't quite fast enough to get out of the way, and he caught her around the waist, yanking her down onto his lap and sending her tray crashing to the floor.

The shot glasses were thick and heavy, making them hard to carry but it meant none of them broke in the ensuing tumult that brought every head in the saloon swiveling to watch them.

Belle blushed to the roots of her hair and shoved against his chest, "George, let me up!"

He tightened his grip on her and leaned closer until she could smell the whiskey on his breath, "Not until you pay the forfeit."

She arched her neck, trying to get away from his searching mouth, tears stinging her eyes as the room erupted into hoots and catcalls. "_Stop it!_" She struggled ineffectually in his arms as she considered the heft of the half-full bottle in her hand. She was tempted to swing but the fear that she'd kill him stayed her hand. Sheriff Swan was known for showing no mercy to criminals.

"You're a wildcat!" George shouted with evident pleasure, grinding his hips up and letting her feel his hardness against her behind. Belle was ready to take her chances with the sheriff when the matter was settled for her.

The noise a gun made being cocked was soft, but it had the ability to cut through every other sound. Every shouting voice went silent when they heard it; even George froze where he was, not releasing her but no longer molesting her. She risked a glance around, the gun pointed at her filling her world. No, not at her, she realized a second later, at George.

Mr. Gold hadn't even stood up, merely drawn his gun and aimed it directly at George's head, and if Belle hadn't served the man eight shots of whiskey, she'd believe he was completely sober because his arm was unwavering, his eyes glittering mercilessly under the brim of his hat. "Let. Her. Go."

Mr. Gold never raised his voice. He didn't have to. When he spoke, people would strain their ears to listen and jump to obey. George was no exception. He shoved Belle off his lap so fast she nearly followed her tray to the floor, and Gold's eyes narrowed. She smoothed out her skirts, trying to avoid meeting anyone's eyes, hating being the center of attention. In an effort to get things back to normal, she knelt on the floor, reaching to gather the fallen glasses. Gold was having none of it.

Gun still trained on George, he gave another order, "Pick those up for her."

George scrambled to obey, and Belle hastened to get out of his way as he flailed, piling the glasses haphazardly on her tray. She'd have to rearrange them unless she wanted to drop everything again, but that wasn't going to be her problem to deal with, as Gold continued, "Take those to the bar. And take yourself somewhere else."

George nearly ran the tray to the bar, flinging it down before disappearing through the swinging doors. Gold holstered his weapon, turning his attention back to his drink like nothing had happened, and seeing that the drama had ended, the patrons went back to their own business.

Belle fetched herself a new tray from the back, taking advantage of being out of the public eye for a moment to wrap her arms around herself, shivering. She nearly shrieked when another set of arms came around her, then she realized it was Ruby offering her comfort.

"You okay, sweetie?" her friend asked, hugging Belle tightly, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Belle leaned into the embrace, trying to soak up some of her friend's strength. "He didn't hurt me. I'm all right."

"I can't believe Gold bailed you out like that. Maybe he's not such a bastard after all." She squeezed harder, then released her, picking her own tray back up.

"He's not," Belle protested, "He's always been nice to me."

"That makes you the only one," Ruby said ruefully, then she looked closer at Belle, "You're not getting ideas about Gold, are you?"

"Of course not!" she denied immediately, "I just don't think he's as bad as everyone says he is."

"He's a killer," Ruby said flatly, "You know the stories as well as I do. Gold is not a good man, whether he's nice to you or not."

Belle scrubbed her hands over her face, trying to pull herself back together. "I know, I know. Don't worry, Ruby, I'm not getting ideas."

"Good." Ruby looked at her hard for a moment, then gave her another quick hug, "Back to work for us before Granny sends in a posse looking for us."

Belle managed a genuine smile as she followed her friend back out into the saloon. Now that the excitement had passed, she was again part of the scenery as she moved among the tables. However, she was uncomfortably aware of one pair of eyes following her as she made her rounds, and she couldn't put off going to his table indefinitely.

"More whiskey, Mr. Gold?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. At his gesture, she refilled his glass, staying close even when he made no move to drink it. "Thank you," she said fervently, hoping her tone conveyed her gratitude better than the insufficient words.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. When it became clear he wasn't going to say anything in reply, Belle smiled awkwardly and darted away, losing herself in the familiar rhythm of service to settle her nerves. By the time things had started to thin out at one in the morning, she was feeling almost normal.

"You can go home, Belle," Ruby called across the room, gesturing to the few remaining patrons. "I can handle this mob."

Smiling gratefully, Belle approached her father's table and shook his shoulder. "It's time to go home, Papa."

A snore was the only answer she got, and she shook him harder, speaking a little louder, "Papa, wake up."

"He can sleep it off here, Belle," Granny called drily from behind the bar, "It won't be the first time."

After one more effort to rouse her father, Belle yielded to the older woman's wisdom. She took off her apron and hung it behind the bar, automatically straightening her hair as if anyone would be out and about this late to see her.

She left the saloon, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air, relieved to no longer be smelling smoke. It clung to her hair and clothes even outside of work, but she pretended the cool breeze would blow it all away, leaving her fresh and clean.

A shadow detached itself from a nearby building, and Belle's heart leapt into her throat, half-expecting George to be lying in wait for her to make her pay for his humiliation at Mr. Gold's hands. A moment later, she realized her mistake. The figure was too slight to be the burly ranch hand, and she'd recognize that distinctive limp anywhere, the one nobody had ever had the nerve to ask the cause of. "Mr. Gold?"

"Miss Belle," he tipped his hat to her as he approached, stopping when he reached her side, "I'll walk you home."

It didn't seem to be a question, and Belle fell into step with him wordlessly, allowing him to escort her down the creaking wooden sidewalk toward the clapboard house she shared with her father. It was a mercy the doctor had bought it before his problems had cropped up. It might be run down now, but at least they would always have a roof over their heads. She sighed at the thought of how far her father had fallen, distracted even from Mr. Gold's odd behavior.

"Thank you," she said at last, shaking her head at her own rudeness, "For looking out for me."

It was a modicum better than what she'd managed in the saloon, but he still didn't really acknowledge her gratitude. "The streets are dangerous for a lady," he said gruffly.

A lady. Belle smiled a little. She'd been a lady once with fine dresses and a parasol before her father's fall from grace. No man in town would have dared lay a hand on her. Now her pretty clothes were gone- even her mother's necklace had been pawned to pay for her father's liquor- and the only man who treated her like a lady was the most feared man in town.

A feared man who knew exactly where she lived, Belle noticed with some discomfort as he led her home. Then she dismissed her misgivings. Of course he knew where she lived; Storybrooke was tiny. She could no doubt find his own cabin past the town's outskirts if she needed to.

She couldn't imagine why she ever would, but the thought still gave her a feeling of comfort. George had been more insistent of late, and although she'd never have the nerve to approach Gold for help, it was nice to think that she could.

He walked her to her door, waiting as she unlatched it and pulled it open. Hesitating in the open door, Belle struggled for something to say. She wasn't afraid of him- sometimes she thought she was the only person in town who wasn't- but she had to admit that he was an intimidating man. Any of her usual remarks about the stars or the night air would surely have met with a condescending smirk so she'd stayed silent during their walk, but unfortunately now words were expected. "Thank you again," she tried, "So much."

His mouth curved at her words, but in the dim light it looked more like a small smile than a smirk. "That's three times now, dear," and there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone, "I consider myself sufficiently thanked."

Belle was torn between embarrassment and laughter, wondering if the fearsome Mr. Gold was actually teasing her. The sheer strangeness of the night tipped the scales to laughter, and she giggled, feeling more at ease with the man than she ever had before as she beamed up at him. He was holding himself very still, watching her like a snake would eye a mouse, yet she felt no fear. If he could tease, he couldn't possibly be the monster everyone called him.

If he wouldn't let her thank him in words, she'd have to find another way. Feeling like she was taking her life into her hands, she mustered all the bravery she could and leaned up to peck his cheek.

Her lips brushed coarse stubble, and Belle jerked back, wondering if he'd kill her now. Instead he seemed to grow even stiller to the point where she wondered if he was even breathing. "Good- goodnight, Mr. Gold," she managed, ducking through the door and pulling it shut behind her as she slumped against it, her heart racing. What had she been _thinking_ to do such a thing? Mr. Gold was no boy, no pet that she was free to fuss over. She was lucky he hadn't snapped her neck for taking such a liberty!

Yet, he hadn't snapped her neck, or shot her, or growled or done any of the hundred things he might have done. Belle put her fingers to her lips, her heart still pounding as she thought about how warm his skin had been beneath the prickly whiskers. What would it feel like to kiss him when he was clean shaven?

She blushed and lit the lantern, readying the breakfast things for the next day in a fluster and wondering if she'd suddenly gone mad. Oh, Ruby would be _horrified_ with her. She'd recognized the signs before Belle had, warned her not to get ideas, and now Belle was most certainly having ideas.

She ascended the stairs to her small bedroom, quickly splashing water over her flushed face and changing into her chemise, feeling warmer than the spring night justified. She wouldn't think about it anymore, she told herself strictly. It was late, and she was tired, and that was all there was to it.

Even so, as she extinguished the lantern and climbed into bed, her fingers strayed back to her lips, wondering if his mouth was as warm as his cheek, if he'd taste of whiskey or the leather he smelled like. Would he kiss her back? Perhaps his mouth would even leave hers as he kissed his way lower. Belle stroked her neck with trembling fingers, remembering one of Ruby's stories. Maybe he'd leave a love mark on her like the one Ruby had had to hide from Granny.

Heat flooded her body at the thought, and Belle whimpered, wrapping her arms around the pillow as she imagined his lips on her throat, his stubble scratching at her skin. Knowing she shouldn't, she cuddled the image closer as she drifted into sleep.

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Gold stood outside the French house until he saw the light go out in one of the upstairs bedrooms- _Belle's_ room. He'd often wondered which of the windows was hers. The clapboard siding had seen better days; its dilapidated state offering plenty of handholds for a man willing to climb.

Bad leg or not, Gold was willing.

He would enter her bedroom soundlessly, kneel at her bedside to watch her lovely face as she slept in the moonlight, then cover her mouth with his own, drinking in her soft sighs of pleasure as he kissed her awake, her lips curving in a smile when she saw her uninvited guest.

It was a pretty fantasy, and he clenched his hand into a fist, mocking himself for it. Belle wouldn't smile and sigh if he intruded on her. She'd scream and slap him and never look at him again without fear in her eyes.

She was beautiful, but he'd seen beautiful women before. It was that lack of fear that had intrigued him years ago when she was the doctor's fine young daughter, clothed in embroidered gowns, her chestnut curls gleaming in the sunlight. He'd passed her on the street one day, and not only had she not crossed the street to get away from him like everyone else did, she'd looked him in the eye and _smiled_.

He could only assume she didn't have the faintest idea who he was, but she smiled again the next time they met, and the next, and all the times after that, of which there were many because he wanted to see how long it would take for her to stop smiling. She never did, even going so far as to greet him by name when they passed on the street.

Then the doctor had taken refuge in a bottle, and her fine clothes had become less fine as the years passed. Her smile remained undimmed, even when she was reduced to working in the saloon to support both of them. She lived in Gold's world now, but she was still as untouchable as the stars; it was obvious to anyone with a brain that Miss Belle was far too good for the likes of Storybrooke.

George Clary had never had much by way of brains. He'd been sniffing around Belle for months, and Gold had been itching to shoot him for that alone, but to go so far as to lay his hands on her... The whelp had been lucky to have Belle so close. Gold never missed a shot, but he wouldn't risk getting blood on her dress. The next time the boy wouldn't be so fortunate.

He'd never planned to let her know that he looked out for her, that he shadowed her footsteps home on nights her father was too drunk to leave the saloon. Yet when he'd seen Clary putting his hands on her, the rage and jealousy had curdled in his stomach, and instinct had taken over. No doubt Ruby would have rescued her from the man's grasp eventually, but Gold had _wanted_ to. He'd wanted to be her hero if only for a moment.

He touched his cheek as he ambled off into the night, still feeling her lips pressed to his weathered skin. He'd been dreaming for years about how her lips might feel, and they were every bit as soft as his fantasies had made them. Her eyes had shone with gratitude, and she'd kissed him like a child would kiss a parent, and he hadn't been able to move because if he had, he would have crushed her up against the wall and shown her how to thank him properly. Even now, it was taking all his self-control to keep from making the climb to her window.

Belle was an innocent, and he_ burned _for her. He'd murdered, thieved, done things no good man would ever consider, but he'd never felt more like a monster than he did this night with Belle tucked up in bed sleeping the sleep of angels while he prowled the streets of Storybrooke like a beast, thinking only of defiling her.

His feet guided him away from his cabin, seeking a more tawdry destination. The cathouse was an open secret in town, and he wasn't a stranger to it. His likes were well-known, his favorite girl making herself visible the moment he stepped through the door.

She wasn't an exact copy by any means. Her curves were too lush, her eyes the wrong color, her face too hard. But her hair was exactly the right shade of chestnut, and the rest he could work with. She led him to their usual room and got herself ready, familiar with his tastes by now. A plain white cotton chemise replaced her colorful underthings while he removed his hat and boots. She was careful to keep her back to him, and clothed in a modest gown with her chestnut curls tumbling down her back the illusion was nearly perfect.

"Where do you want me?" she asked softly, the only time she'd speak during their encounter. Earlier on, she'd put some effort into mimicking Belle's slight accent and high-class speech, but she couldn't get close enough to suit him. Silence was better.

"On the bed. You're asleep." Dimming the lantern, he took refuge in one of his favorite fantasies as the girl arranged herself on the bed, her hair obscuring her face as she feigned sleep. He was coming back to the cabin late to find Belle there, the girl having fallen asleep waiting for him. He sat down on the bed beside her, trailing his hand down the length of her spine, trying not to wake her but unable to keep from touching.

Bending his head, he kissed her shoulder, and Belle stirred in her sleep, pushing back against him like a cat seeking a caress. He tugged her chemise down, baring her shoulder to his biting kisses, no longer worried about waking her, because she'd like it if he did. Here in this room Belle wanted his kisses, his touch. She wanted _him_.

He nipped at her neck, frustrated as the fantasy kept skittering away. The girl smelled wrong; he'd never been close enough to Belle to notice that before. Belle smelled of roses. Raking his fingers through her hair, he focused his gaze on her chestnut curls and tried again, calling on a fantasy he rarely permitted himself. This time he wasn't surprised at all to see her because she spent every night in his bed. Belle was his wife. She knew every horrible thing he'd done and loved him anyway, and she'd vowed never to leave.

Gold inhaled sharply, spooning up behind her to rub himself against the curve of her ass. Belle gave a breathy little moan and laced her fingers with his, squeezing his hand in a silent plea for more. He rucked up her chemise, dipping his free hand between her thighs to see if she was ready for him.

Belle was _dripping_ for him, and he pressed his fingers deeper, wanting to give her more pleasure, as much pleasure as she could stand as he kissed her neck and the side of her face, curling himself around her more. Belle was his, and no one was ever going to take her away from him.

Belle moaned again, louder this time, and her voice was all wrong. He grunted, shoving the girl onto her belly so her noises would be muffled by the pillow. Pulling himself off her, he unbuttoned his trousers and freed himself, his eyes running over her hungrily as the fantasy shifted again.

They weren't in his cabin anymore; this was her girlhood bedroom, and he'd climbed in the window like he'd wanted to find her sprawled out on her bed like some kind of sacrifice, waiting for him.

He slid an arm under her hips, yanking her back into him as he thrust into her, pushing as deep as he could go. His leg screamed at the pressure he was putting on it, but he was balls-deep in his sweet Belle, and nothing was going to stop him now. She squeezed her inner muscles and he saw stars, pulling out of her just to have the pleasure of plunging in again.

He'd wanted her for so fucking long that he couldn't be gentle, but Belle cried out into the pillow, pushing back greedily to take more of him as he ravaged her, hips pistoning. Growling, he slammed himself home again and again and again, fumbling between her legs for the place that would give her pleasure. He was losing his rhythm, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared the precipice, but he needed her to go over it first.

"Come for me, Belle," he begged, his voice ragged, and as if on cue she stiffened beneath him, her body quivering with her climax as he found his own in a glorious rush, pouring himself into her precious body.

He collapsed on top of her, mouth moving over her throat in apology for being so rough. She shifted beneath him happily as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling her lilac perfume.

Belle smelled like roses.

Gold yanked himself off of the girl, disgusted with himself as he always was afterward. He'd cheapened Belle by doing this and proved yet again he couldn't be trusted with her. He couldn't treat her as she deserved to be treated; he couldn't even keep control with a _replica_ of her. If he ever laid a hand on the real Belle, he'd tear her apart.

Gritting his teeth, he tucked himself back into his pants and found his boots, tossing a handful of coins onto the mattress. She was a good girl, this whore whose name he could never remember. It was for the best she was as close as he'd ever get to the real thing


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I wasn't expecting this story to take off like it did, but who am I to deny the people what they want? I hope you enjoy the continuation!

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Dying wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be. The bullet wound in his side had long ceased to be a torment, fading to a dull burning as blood continued to ooze sluggishly out, the earlier torrent having slowed considerably. Gold was no fool; he knew well enough that didn't bode well for him. His body was shutting down. Already his hands were going numb, his steps unsteady. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd taken them with him.

Mostly he just felt tired, a soul-deep weariness spreading to every part of his body that he could still feel. Still he walked, the cool night air doing little to clear his head. He was dying in this life, but in the next life he was damned, and he wanted one last pleasure before he consigned his soul to the flames. He wanted to see her once more.

He was leaving a trail so obvious a child could have followed it as he lurched into town, the streets deserted at this late hour. It was a familiar path he trod, a walk he could have made in his sleep as he found his way to the rundown clapboard house that sheltered the Frenches. As if he'd done it a thousand times instead of just imagining it, his numb fingers found purchase, and he dragged himself up the side of the building toward the shuttered window that he knew belonged to Belle.

He couldn't even feel the old leg injury, but he'd just reached the sill of her window when it came back to haunt him, collapsing under him when it was no longer able to bear his weight. He grabbed for the sill, his hand pounding against the shutter as he struggled to catch himself, but his fingers refused to work properly and he found himself falling, his body hitting the dusty ground with a dull thud that jarred his teeth. He was going to finish bleeding out on the ground like a dog. It was apt enough.

Above him, he heard a creak as the shutters opened and in the moonlight he could make out Belle's outline as she stuck her head out the window, looking around for the source of the disturbance. Her chestnut curls were loose about her face, her eyes shining in the dim light, and Gold sighed, wishing he could see her better but content that he'd at least gotten his final wish.

As he stared, her eyes lit on him and went wide, then she ducked back inside like he'd aimed a gun at her. He closed his eyes, satisfied, and waited to drift away.

The slam of a door jerked him back to consciousness, then Belle was leaning over him, holding a candle in her hand. She seemed to be shaking because the hot wax was dripping on him. He could see the beads better than he could feel them. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no," she was saying as she held the light closer, her free hand finding the rent in his shirt that exposed the hole in his side. He hissed, suddenly feeling it again.

"Mr. Gold?" A small hand cupped his cheek, then slapped him lightly when he didn't respond quickly enough to suit her. Another slap woke him out of his stupor, but Belle didn't look angry, just worried. "Mr. Gold, you have to stay awake. You have to stand up. Can you stand up?" She dropped the candle in the dirt and grabbed his arm, trying to haul him off the ground.

"You have to help me," she said when he lay there like a sack of flour. She wrenched harder, not giving up. "You have to stand up for me, Mr. Gold. Can you stand up for me? Please?"

His Belle was asking him to do something for her, and his body sluggishly obeyed without any contribution from his brain. He swayed dangerously when they finally got him on his feet, and Belle tucked herself under his arm on his undamaged side, wrapping her arm around his body above the bullet wound, her hand immediately getting covered by his blood. Gold felt like he should apologize for that, but his tongue didn't seem to want to work.

"Come on," she encouraged, praising him lavishly when he made his legs move, "That's right. That's good. Just lean on me. We're going inside."

He wasn't quite sure how they got there, but they were suddenly in a kitchen and Belle was trying to get him to lie down on the table. Being horizontal seemed considerably easier than the alternative, so Gold went willingly, the hard wood under his back less comfortable than the dirt had been. She shoved something under his feet to elevate his legs, probably to keep his filthy boots off her clean table.

Harsh light stung his eyes, then Belle was back, her little hands going to work on the buttons of his vest and shirt, undoing them quickly and pushing the material open to bare his chest, and he'd dreamt about a moment like this, but in his dreams he'd been a more active participant, so he lifted his hand to the neck of her linen shift, trying to ease it down over her shoulder so he could see her too, then Belle was taking hold of his wrist and guiding his hand firmly back down onto the table. "Now, now," she scolded, but she didn't sound upset, "If you want to do that, you have to marry me first."

That sounded like a lovely idea, and Gold was all for it. It would mean waking up Pastor Hopper, but perhaps the man wouldn't mind. Weddings were a cause for celebration after all. They could always bribe him with Ruby to get him to agree...

Something cold and wet touched his side, waking the wound back up and he flinched, focusing on Belle's face as he tried not to whimper. She was cleaning away the blood and dirt from his side, sucking in a breath at whatever she uncovered. "How long ago did this happen?" she asked, looking paler than he'd ever seen her.

He tried to concentrate and failed, "'while ago," was the most specific he could be. Belle didn't look satisfied.

"I'll be _right_ back. Can you stay awake?" He nodded, eyes already slipping shut. She grabbed his hand, pulling it off the table and wrapping his fingers around something metal and heavy. "Mr. Gold, I need you to hold this pan for me. Off to the side, just like this," she explained, and he looked down the length of his arm to see the cast iron frying pan she was asking him to hold.

"Can you do that?" she prompted, and he concentrated, tightening his fingers around the handle and trying to maintain the angle she'd set. "Good." A moment later he heard the sound of her bare feet pounding on the steps as she yelled for her father, but he had trouble paying attention to that because it was taking all his focus not to drop the pan that was growing heavier by the moment.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his arm trembled, but he held on to the pan. Belle had asked him to. Belle didn't usually ask him to do things, so this had to be important. So he held the pan.

He was so busy holding the pan that when someone tried to take it away from him he snarled and fought, then Belle's voice was back, accompanied by Belle herself. "You can let go now, Mr. Gold. Thank you for holding it for me."

He released the handle, flexing his fingers in relief and wondering how she could heft it so easily. Carrying trays at the saloon must have strengthened her arms. A large black bag had appeared on the table beside him accompanied by a book and a mostly-full bottle of whiskey. He hoped that was for him, but Belle picked it up and wrenched it open, not offering him any before she walked away.

Without warning, she dumped half the bottle over his side, and it felt like she'd set him on fire. He went up on his elbows and cussed a blue streak, letting fly words no lady should ever be aware _existed_, much less hear. Belle didn't even blink. Instead she beamed up at him like he'd given her a compliment. "That's better. That's much better. Keep cursing at me."

The pain had cleared his head somewhat, and Gold blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where he was and how he'd gotten there. "Miss Belle?"

"If I don't clean it out, it'll get infected. This isn't so bad, but if you get wound rot, you're done," she explained rapidly, "At least the bullet went right through you."

She poured a variety of other things over and into the bullet wound, and Gold grabbed the table with white fingers, biting back the curses she hadn't seemed to mind. Belle was a lady. He wouldn't use that language in front of her. At least not again.

Finally, she stopped. Wiping off her hands, she came to stand near his head, her fingers gentle on his heaving chest. "I cleaned it out as best I can. If there's any damage inside, I don't know how to fix it." Her eyes dropped, a guilty expression creeping over her face.

Gold covered her hand with his own, relishing the feeling of her fingers on his bare skin, and if he could focus on that, he might pull through this after all. "It's no matter, Miss Belle. You've done enough."

"I'll stitch it for you, if you'd like," she said earnestly, "I've watched Papa do it, and I know how to sew."

"Thank you." He nodded at her to continue, and she hesitated.

"It's going to hurt," she warned, like he was unaware of the fact, "Do you want laudanum or the rest of the whiskey or..."

He waved her off. "Just do it, dear." This was going to hurt like a _bitch_, and Gold didn't trust himself. If he dulled his senses, he might strike at her. He wouldn't risk it.

"All right." Belle retrieved the large needle and catgut from her black bag of tricks and set to work. The needle slid in and out of his skin like cold fire, and he couldn't help hissing at each slide. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth, biting back curses as she drew his skin back together. After each stitch, Belle rubbed circles on his quivering stomach, petting him like a housecat to offer comfort, and that was a different kind of torture. Gold knew he'd be reliving these moments over and over again in the years to come. Assuming he lasted that long.

Once she'd finished stitching up the entrance wound, Belle rolled him onto his side so she could take care of the exit, this time patting his hip in encouragement, and Gold felt lucky so much of his blood was currently on the outside of his body. It meant certain reactions were impossible despite his body's twitching best efforts.

More whiskey to sterilize, then soft linen bandages wrapped around his torso, and Gold was more or less in one piece again, his plans for his own death put to rest. "Thank you, Miss Belle," he murmured, the words feeling grossly inadequate for the woman who'd just saved his life. He struggled to sit up, his vision greying out sickeningly as he did.

"Stubborn man," he heard muttered, then Belle's arm was around his shoulders, holding him steady. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Shouldn't... trouble you," he panted out, having trouble drawing a full breath, his skin feeling clammy everywhere Belle wasn't touching him.

"I didn't put you back together just so you could pass out in the street," she informed him, giving him a minute to regroup before dragging him upright and getting him standing up, using herself as support. "Come with me."

He leaned heavily on her, feeling like he'd drunk a full bottle of whiskey. Belle led him up the creaking staircase and into a small room, getting him sitting down on the edge of a narrow bed. "Don't move," she warned before disappearing, and he looked around, taking in the cream-colored walls and the graceful lines of a vanity bare except for a silver-backed hairbrush before realizing where he was.

Belle had put him in her bed.

His stomach lurched at the thought, and if his body had been willing to cooperate, he would have been halfway out the door because this was not a good idea. This was going to give him ideas that he couldn't afford to have if he wanted to keep his sanity. This was _not_ a good idea.

She returned a few moments later with a striped nightshirt in her hands. "It's Papa's and it'll be too big, but at least it's not covered in blood," she informed him, reaching out to tug his unbuttoned vest and shirt off his shoulders. As he watched, dumbfounded, she dropped to her knees in front of him, and he immediately had a new favorite fantasy.

This was real-Belle, not imitation-fantasy-Belle, and all she did was take his feet in her lap to pull off his boots, leaving him clad only in his trousers. For a moment he wondered if she was planning to wrest those off of him too, then she stepped back, blushing. "If you want to get changed, I'll make tea." Before he could reply, she fled the room, and Gold set to work attempting to get his limbs to cooperate enough to get his trousers off and the nightshirt on before she came back to see him in the altogether. In her bed Oh God.

She certainly looked happy to see him in her bed when she came back, and that look was going to fuel fantasies for the next decade. She placed a tray on the nightstand containing a full teacup as well as a pot of tea, then swatted at him until he was lying in the bed instead of just sitting on it. "I want you to drink the entire pot," she informed him, sounding like a schoolmarm, and he wondered deliriously if she'd use that same strict tone with him to tell him how to touch her, how to please her.

"You lost a _lot_ of blood, and you need to drink," she told him, her eyes filled with innocent concern, and Gold cursed himself for his wandering thoughts. "If you need anything, call for me. I don't want you getting out of this bed."

That statement wasn't helping his resolve not to fantasize, so he just nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I mean it," she held up her finger and glared at him, "If I catch you sneaking around, I'll shoot you myself." Her threat was immediately belied by a giggle, and he couldn't help but smile back. Belle patted his knee through the bedclothes, then gathered his abandoned clothes and left him alone.

He leaned back against the pillows, the smell of roses surrounding him, and he barely managed to gulp down the tea before drifting off into dreamless sleep, feeling better than a man who'd been ready to die two hours earlier had any right to feel.

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Belle already felt like she'd walked to Mexico and back, and it wasn't even daybreak. The thud against her shutters had woken her out of a sound sleep, and she'd nearly ignored it. She'd almost rolled over and gone straight back to sleep instead of checking, and the thought that she easily could have done so made her shiver.

At first she'd thought Gold was dead.

It wasn't until she'd touched the hole in his side and he'd groaned that she'd realized he still breathed, and at that moment, Belle made the decision that she'd fight Death himself to keep this man here on earth. He'd been desperate enough to drag himself to her father for aid, and the Frenches would not fail him. Not even if Doctor French couldn't be roused from his drunken stupor.

She'd occasionally assisted her father in his practice back when he still had one, and she drew on those memories as well as the medical tome she'd found and her own common sense to treat Mr. Gold as well as she could. She'd run through the basics like she was going down a checklist in her head: keep his feet elevated, keep him awake, clean the wound, stitch it up, clean it again, bandages, fluids, rest. She hadn't allowed herself to think, and it had somehow- miraculously- worked. Gold looked weak and disoriented, but he was still alive and even capable of answering questions.

He was also currently tucked up in her bed, but Belle wasn't allowing herself to think about that either.

She went to the pump and filled the washtub, then grabbed the washboard, her hands moving automatically as she scrubbed the blood and dirt out of his clothing in the predawn light and hung it to dry. She'd mend it once it dried, not that he'd be going anywhere for a while yet.

Laundry done, she repacked her father's medical bag and replaced it in his study with the book and returned the now mostly-empty bottle of whiskey to the hiding place he thought she didn't know about. He wouldn't be happy at the loss, but hopefully he'd assume he'd drunk it himself. She scrubbed the blood off the table and rinsed out her cloth, then turned a full circle, looking for something else to do.

There was nothing, and Belle was abruptly left with nothing to occupy her hands or, worse, her mind. The events of the night caught up with her in a rush, and she sank to the floor with a sob, leaning her head against the table leg as she cried herself out.

Gold had looked so helpless, so childlike with his dark unfocused eyes and clumsy touches. He'd been half out of his mind from pain and blood loss, yet he'd known her, had gripped the table until the wood creaked as she sewed him up and never uttered a curse after he woke up enough to realize what he was saying. In short, he'd behaved more like a gentleman than any other man of her acquaintance, and he was the most feared man in town.

Wiping her face on her shift, Belle gathered herself up and made her way to the uncomfortable settee in the parlor. Shaking her head at herself, she curled up on it, knowing she'd never be able to sleep.

The next thing she knew, sunlight was streaming through the uncovered windows, and someone was crashing down the stairs. Belle came awake at once, already on her feet to haul Mr. Gold straight back to bed, but it was only her father on the steps, still in his nightshirt and blinking at her in confusion. "Belle," he started, then stopped like he'd forgotten he was speaking. A minute or so later, he tried again. "Belle. There's a man in your bed."

The sheer oddity of the conversation made her want to laugh. "That's Mr. Gold, papa. He was shot last night. He came to us for help." Help that her father had been too drunk to provide, she thought resentfully, guilt filling her at once for the uncharitable thought.

"Oh." Doctor French nodded sagely, "Did I treat him then?"

"No, papa," Belle sighed, "You were... asleep. I cleaned his wound and stitched it."

"Oh good, good," her father nodded at her, "Well done. Didn't know you could do that."

Belle hadn't known it either, but she hadn't had a choice. "Will you check on him? Make sure I did it right?" He was mostly sober at the moment, if hungover, and his professional expertise could only help.

He patted her vaguely on the head, wandering by on his way to the kitchen. "I'm sure you did a fine job, Belle. A fine job."

Belle was left staring after her father, who'd just absolved himself of any responsibility for the wounded man who'd come to him for help. For a moment she wanted to fly at him, shake him, scream at him, but it would do no good. Instead, she turned on her heel to ascend the stairs. If her father wouldn't care for Mr. Gold, she'd do it herself.

She opened the bedroom door as quietly as she could, then forgot to be stealthy when she got her first look at him. Gold was sprawled on his back with the covers shoved down to his feet, but he was sweating in the cool air, twitching slightly. Belle ran to his side, pressing her hand to his forehead to find him burning with fever.

She wrenched the nightshirt up until she could see the bandages, not even thinking about what else she was uncovering. The bandages were still clean, so the wound hadn't broken open again, which she thought was a good sign. Leaning down, she sniffed at it, struggling to detect any hint of rotten flesh, but as far as she could tell, it wasn't festering. She looked down at him, trying to figure out what the source of the fever could be if it wasn't wound rot, and got more of an eyeful of Mr. Gold than she'd ever expected to see. Yelping, she yanked the nightshirt back down, blushing scarlet.

Fortunately, Gold was still out, his brow furrowed and he was muttering in his sleep, low words that Belle couldn't distinguish. She hesitated, than ran for the stairs. "Papa! Papa, he has a fever, please come!"

Her father met her at the foot to the stairs with a basin of cool water and a clean cloth. He handed it to her, then led her into his study where he retrieved a bottle of quinine from his bag, his eyes brighter and more focused than Belle had seen them in years.

Relieved to have her father looking like his old self again and even more relieved to have his help, Belle headed back to her bedroom and the feverish man she'd left there, moving the empty pot of tea to the floor so she could place the basin on the nightstand only then realizing that her father hadn't followed her into the room. "Papa?"

Her father hesitated in the doorway, holding the glass bottle out to her. "Give him a dose every two hours."

Belle stared at him in disbelief. "You won't help?"

The light faded from his eyes as he lowered his head. "You're doing fine, Belle." With that, he shuffled away, pulling the door closed behind him.

Her eyes stung, but she didn't have time to cry. Belle dipped the cloth in the cool water and swabbed Mr. Gold's face and throat, feeling it pulse under her fingers as he swallowed convulsively. She sat down on the bed beside him, the heat from his body permeating her shift. Reaching for the bottle, she pulled the stopper loose and measured out a dose, hovering over him as she tried to figure out how to get him to take it.

"Mr. Gold? Mr. Gold, please wake up." She shook his shoulder with her free hand. He groaned but didn't stir, and Belle put her hand on his bristled cheek and slapped him a little. "Mr. Gold!"

He nuzzled into her hand, his stubble prickling against her palm as his eyes fluttered open, "Belle?"

Belle inhaled sharply. His pupils were completely blown and there was little awareness in his eyes, but at least he knew who she was. "That's right; it's me. Can you open your mouth for me?"

He turned his face into her palm instead in a clumsy kiss, and Belle caught her breath. Putting her hand under his jaw, she tilted his head back, stroking her thumb over his lips until he parted them with a soft whimper. "There you go," she murmured, tipping the bitter liquid into his mouth and wincing as she heard him gag on it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but it will help you," she whispered, tossing the spoon onto the nightstand and taking up the cloth again. Giving into temptation, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before again swabbing his face, and he quieted under her ministrations.

The respite was only brief before his fever spiked again, and Belle felt like she was fighting a war. She swabbed him with water and vinegar as he thrashed and raved, trying desperately to cool him and keep him from doing any damage to himself. Most of what he said she couldn't understand, but she caught her name often enough in his ravings to be comforted that he at least knew where he was. He couldn't be too far gone if he still knew her.

Other times he was lucid, calling her Miss Belle and thanking her as she fed him water and beef tea, trying to build his strength back up from the fever and blood loss. Even then the fever didn't leave him, and his eyes glittered with an unholy light as she sat on the bed next to him and coaxed him to drink.

She marked time by his lucid spells, barely aware of the sunlight moving through the small room as the day passed. She looked up once to see her father standing in the doorway, fully dressed with his hat upon his head. "I'll make your excuses to Granny, shall I?" he asked, already turning away.

"Papa, he needs _help_," Belle called after him, nearly in tears, but although his shoulders tensed, Moe French kept walking away. The next dose of quinine she tipped into Mr. Gold's mouth nearly choked him, and Belle bit her tongue to maintain her composure, stroking his throat to encourage him to swallow. Her own throat was sore from keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Her voice seemed to soothe him though, so she kept talking, telling him about her favorite books, the kitten she'd had as a child, the silly things she overheard while working in the saloon, anything she could think of to fill the silence.

Day turned into night, and Belle only realized it because she was forced to rise and light the lantern in order to see what she was doing. On the bed, Gold thrashed and moaned, stretching out his hands like he was searching for her, and Belle hurried back to his side, resuming her seat beside him on the mattress. "I'm here, I'm here," she whispered, stroking his damp hair off his face, "You're going to be _fine_, Mr. Gold."

Her voice broke on the promise, because Mr. Gold wasn't getting better. He was ghastly pale and drenched in sweat, his body burning up, yet his teeth chattered like he was freezing, and there was nothing else Belle could do. At least her presence seemed to comfort him, she thought as she bathed his face. He calmed when he felt her beside him. As she lifted the cloth away to wring it out, Gold wrapped his arm around her thighs, and Belle gasped at the shock of the touch as he snuggled closer, pillowing his head in her lap as he clung to her legs like a child.

Belle's heart broke for the fearsome man. Terrifying his reputation might be, but he was a man like any other. Like anyone else he needed comfort and kindness, and she wondered if he had anyone in his life who offered it. She rather thought not. She ran her fingers through his shaggy hair, petting and cosseting him the way she hoped a mother might.

Leaning down she pressed a tender kiss to his temple, his heat searing her lips. His eyes fluttered open as she did, looking up at her as if through haze. "Belle?" he murmured, voice rough, "_Belle_."

"Hush," she soothed, going back to petting his hair and he leaned into her caress like a cat, "I'm here. I won't leave. Just concentrate on getting well. You _must_ get well."

Silent tears started to run down her cheeks as she continued, finding one topic she hadn't exhausted. "I know what you said, but I can never thank you enough for saving me from George. I felt so safe when you walked me home. He hasn't bothered me since, and I know it's all because of you. Any man who'd do that with no thought of reward... You're a gentleman. I don't care what anyone says."

One tear slid down her face to land on his cheek, and Gold blinked up at her again, reaching up with a shaking hand to brush his fingers against her face, trying to wipe away her tears. "Belle, no," he rasped, his voice thick, "Don't... fix it..."

Just that much talking had clearly exhausted him, and Belle shushed him. trying to get him to rest by humming a half-remembered lullaby from her childhood. Eventually he drifted off again, and Belle's own eyes grew heavy. Leaning back against the headboard, she placed a fresh cloth on his forehead and told herself she'd only close her eyes for a moment. The moment she did, the exhaustions of the day caught her out, and Belle slipped into sleep


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for all your kind words about this story! I'm having a wonderful time writing it, and I hope it keeps living up to your expectations.

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It took Gold a long time to realize he was awake. His dreams had been disjointed and strange, but Belle was always in them, smiling and holding out her hands to him, making the blood and screams vanish as long as he held onto her. When she went away, the nightmares returned, reaching out with their black tendrils to pull him down into a world of fire and ice until Belle returned to him again.

Finally, she stayed, wrapping herself around him like she loved him. She stroked his hair and whispered soft words, and the flames receded, unable to touch her purity. He floated in that place for an eternity with her arms around him, and although he doubted heaven had a place for him, it felt like he was already there. Slowly he became aware of a throbbing pain in his side, which didn't fit the peaceful scene at all. He blinked his eyes open to faint morning light, only then realizing that the warm body in his arms was no dream.

Belle was plastered against him in the narrow bed, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. In his dreams she'd held him, but in reality he was holding her, his arms so tight around her that his muscles ached. Even so, Gold couldn't force himself to loosen his grip. His leg was wrapped around both of hers, and even if she'd tried to get away, there would have been no escaping his hold on her. Morbidly, he wondered how much she must have struggled before she gave up. Her breath was warm and steady against his throat, making him shiver. He'd never been so close to Belle in his life.

Despite his fantasies, he'd never truly believed he'd be permitted this close to her. She shifted against him in her sleep, one arm wrapping loosely around his waist, and Gold nearly groaned. He'd dreamed about a moment like this- Belle sleeping in his arms, happy and warm and safe- but in his dreams she'd been there because she wanted to be, not because he'd attacked her while she'd been nursing him.

Grinding his teeth, he managed to let her go, rolling onto his back in an attempt to give her more space in the narrow bed. The pain in his side eased now that he was no longer putting pressure on the bullet wound, but the rest of his body ached at the loss of her warmth. Belle stirred again, following him in her sleep. She rolled over, once again sliding her arm around him as her head came to rest on his shoulder. Gold looked down at her tousled curls in disbelief, trying not to move or even breathe for fear of disturbing her. Her breathing deepened, warm against his chest through the cotton nightshirt, and he put hesitant arms around her, holding her loosely against him. When she didn't wake to push him away, he dared to press a kiss to those chestnut curls he'd admired for so long, finding them as soft and sweetly-scented as he'd always imagined they would be. Then, resting his cheek on her hair, he let himself slide back into sleep.

The next time he woke, he was alone in the bed and the room was brighter. Before he could even look around, cool fingers pressed against his forehead, and Belle's face swam into view. "Oh, good, your fever's still down," she said with some relief, "You had me worried, Mr. Gold."

Her eyes were clear and bright, not a trace of embarrassment in her cheerful expression. Gold could almost believe waking up with her in his arms had just been another dream, but one of her curls was turned the exact wrong way, crushed the way it would be had she spent the night sleeping on a man's shoulder- _his_ shoulder. "I apologize for the trouble, Miss Belle."

"Don't be silly," she scolded him, her voice rich with the affection a mother would show a child, "You were ill. Do you think you can eat something for me?"

Gold would have walked to the moon and back for her, so eating a bowl of porridge sweetened with honey was hardly problematic. Belle perched next to him on the bed, making certain that he ate it all, and under her scrutiny he became aware of just how mangy he must look with his scruffy face and body sour with the scent of illness and dried sweat. "You're a fine cook," he complimented her, trying to distract her from his appearance, and Belle beamed at the compliment.

"Thank you. It's nice to have someone to cook for. My father-" she stopped herself, her eyes haunted like she'd said too much.

Gold could fill in the blanks for himself, and he ground his teeth. Self-destruction was well and good when a man had nothing to live for, but Moe French had responsibilities. All Belle had was her father, and the man was all but leaving her to fend for herself. If she was his...

If she was his, she'd be even more unhappy, he allowed. No decent woman would want to belong to a man like him, even if he could offer her protection. Belle would want for nothing as his wife, nothing except a man she could love and respect. The porridge suddenly didn't taste as appetizing, but he finished it anyway, passing her the bowl. "If I could have my clothes back-" he began, but Belle cut him off.

"You can't," she said, her voice calm and firm.

Gold blinked at her, "Excuse me?"

"You can't," she repeated, "You're in no shape to go anywhere yet, and I don't trust you to take proper care of yourself."

While the thought of having Belle looking after him brought nothing but pleasure- he could see her, speak to her without having to save her virtue to earn the privilege- Gold knew his own limitations. The more of her he had, the more of her he'd want. He might have enough self-control to keep himself from trying to kiss her before she deemed him recovered and allowed him to leave, but he knew he didn't have the strength to live without her after she sent him away. Better to leave now and cherish the handful of sweet, jumbled memories he had rather than torture himself with something that could never be. "I've been taking care of myself for longer than you've been alive, Miss Belle," he blustered, irritated with himself for calling attention to their age difference.

"And a fine job you've done of it too," she retorted, gathering up the dishes and straightening her skirts as she got off the bed, leaving him feeling immediately bereft. "You've got a hole in your side and more scars than I care to count. You'll stay here until you're well enough to be on your own, and I don't want to hear another word about it."

She swanned out of the room with her head held high, leaving Gold staring after her with disbelief. Was that really Belle? In his head, he'd always thought of her as soft and sweet-natured, making her kind even to a man like him. This Belle- _real_ Belle- had a core of iron making her unafraid to tell off a man who could snap her in half.

Gold hadn't thought it was possible to want her more than he already did, yet somehow he was managing it. She was an intoxicating mix of strength and fragility, and for a moment Gold wasn't sure which he wanted more: to kiss her or to hear her put him in his place again, proving her utter lack of fear of him.

Her color was heightened when she returned, her smile a bit abashed, "I shouldn't have scolded," she admitted as she placed a steaming basin of water on the nightstand and a towel-wrapped bundle on the bed.

"I think I deserved it," he allowed, and the smile they shared made him feel even closer to her than holding her had.

Belle unwrapped her bundle, revealing a straight razor and a few other supplies, and Gold heaved a mental sigh of relief. He'd never be a handsome man, but at least she was allowing him enough dignity not to force him to look like a grizzly bear for her. "Thank you, Miss Belle." He held his hand out for the razor, frowning when she didn't give it to him.

Instead, Belle was staring at his outstretched hand, a furrow between her brows. Gold looked down too, seeing the way it trembled. "No," she said decisively, putting the razor out of his reach and picking up the shaving brush and small bowl of lather she'd brought with her, "You can't afford to lose any more blood."

"_Belle_..." he growled, and she ignored his dangerous tone, swirling the brush through the lather and applying it to his face in neat little daubs.

"Oh, hush. I do this for my father sometimes. I won't nick you." She could cut his throat for all he cared; that wasn't what he was worried about. Belle was stubborn as a mule, and there was no use in arguing he realized as she leaned closer and carefully placed the razor blade against his cheek, so close he could feel her breath on his face, her sweet lips only scant inches from his own.

Her face was rapt with concentration, every ounce of her attention focused on him as she scraped the blade over his cheek, taking up a swath of lather and whiskers and leaving smooth skin behind. She was so close she was practically in his lap, and he couldn't stop staring at her mouth. As she worked, every so often her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and Gold clutched at the bedding, fighting the urge to chase her tongue with his own, crush her against him so he could properly show his gratitude for all she'd done. Only the thought that Belle would not appreciate his method of thanks kept him still.

He inhaled as she exhaled, sharing the same air she'd breathed, the temperature in the room feeling higher than the early spring day justified. Warm fingers brushed his jawline as she arranged him where she wanted him, making his skin prickle. Gold would bare his throat to no one else, but there was something almost unbearably erotic in doing it for her.

His body was taking an interest in the proceedings, and he desperately needed something to distract him before she noticed. When Belle leaned away to rinse the blade, he cleared his throat and attempted, "You doctor, you cook, you barber... Is there anything you can't do, Miss Belle?"

She giggled, shaking her head at the admiration in his voice. "I'm a dreadful singer," she admitted, "And I can't ride a horse."

That caught him by surprise. Back when her father was a wealthy man, he'd kept fine horses, and Gold had assumed Belle would have had her pick. "No interest?" he hazarded.

"Too scared," she shot back, a flush coloring her cheeks, "When I was a little girl, I saw one of our grooms thrown. He recovered, but it looked _awful_. I wouldn't go near the stable after that. By the time I got over my fear... There wasn't much time for riding."

"But you'd like to learn now?" he pressed, grasping the idea with both hands. He could offer to teach her as a thank you for saving his life. It would be an excuse to see her, speak to her. He wouldn't have to let her go completely once he was well.

Belle laughed a little, but her eyes were sober, "We couldn't afford a horse now anyway."

"It's still an important skill. What if you ever need to make a quick get away?" Talking about riding had reminded him of his own horse. He hoped the beast had enough sense to find its way home after his little incident. Gold had been in no shape to care for it, but there was enough grazing land around the cabin that it should be able to fend for itself for a few days.

Belle's eyes danced at the thought that she might ever be in a position where she needed to ride for her life. "And where would I go? Mexico?" she teased.

As long as he was alive, Belle would always have somewhere to go if she needed a protector. Gold only regretted he could never tell her that. "I'm sure someone would take you in."

Belle completed her task, then traced her fingers over his face and jaw, checking her work. Gold inhaled sharply at the touch, praying that she hadn't noticed. He ran his own hand over his face, feeling the smooth skin. "Couldn't have done a better job myself," he praised, and Belle glowed at the words.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," she promised, taking the shaving supplies with her as she left, and Gold looked around with interest at the small room. There was little enough in it, but the furniture was well-made and everything was neatly kept. It looked like what it was: the bedroom of a well-bred young woman who'd fallen on hard times. He could see darker areas in the cream colored paint where pictures no longer hung, and he could only imagine the vanity had once contained trinkets and jewelry now long gone. Belle had so little left, yet her smile remained undimmed.

One thing she did have was books, he noticed, straining his eyes in an effort to read the titles. It was a small stack of perhaps ten books piled neatly on the floor, and he wondered how he'd never known that she liked to read.

Belle returned with another basin of steaming water and more cloth, seeing where he was looking. "My library," she said grandly, showing him what she'd brought.

There were towels, fresh bandages and a clean nightshirt along with soap, and she grinned at him. "This one I'll let you manage yourself.

Gold put his hand over his heart, miming disappointment and enjoying her laugh. "I'll change the linens once you're done," she promised, "And if you like, I'll read to you later."

She left him alone to bathe, and Gold took more care than he normally would have bothered with, cursing the weakness in his limbs that left him exhausted once he'd finished. No doubt Belle had been perfectly correct in forcing him to stay. There was no way he could have managed the walk to his cabin in his current condition, and the thought that he'd tried to reject this chance to know her better made him shake his head at his own foolishness. It would be torture to be without her once it was over, but he would have beautiful memories to console him, and a man like him could ask for nothing more.

Once Belle had completed her self-assigned tasks and gotten him tucked back into bed, she went to her library. "What would you like to hear? I'm afraid there aren't too many choices."

"Read me your favorite," he requested, wanting to know what she liked, a hint of what went on in her pretty head. He scooted over to make room for her on the bed when she would have brought the vanity chair over, and Belle curled up next to him without a word of protest, leaning against the headboard beside him as she opened the book. Gold wondered briefly if he could get away with resting his head in her lap and decided not to push his luck, concentrating mostly on the sound of her voice as she began a story about a middle-aged man who read one too many romances and set off looking for adventure.

The story was engaging but his gaze kept slipping from the page to her profile, admiring her porcelain skin and the way her hair curled a little tighter near her ear. Gold longed to trace the delicate shell with his tongue and hear the hitch in her voice as he offered her pleasure. Instead, he forced himself to look back down at the book, his fingers playing distractedly with the fabric of her skirt.

Belle read to him until the light in the room dimmed, then she gathered a few of her own belongings and left him to prepare for her night's work. When she came back, she was the Belle he was accustomed to seeing at the saloon with her ruffled skirt and feathers carefully arranged in her upswept hair. Although she looked lovely, he preferred the Belle he'd spent the day with. Her simple blue cotton dress and loose curls had made her look infinitely touchable, and he liked the idea that he was one of few people who saw her like that.

She lit the lantern for him and placed the book back in his hands after making sure he had everything he'd need while she was gone. "No sneaking out," she warned sternly, her finger only inches from his nose.

Gold held up his hands in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Belle," he promised, and she nodded in satisfaction. His heart nearly stopped when she leaned down to kiss his forehead, the innocent touch heating his blood almost unbearably.

Nearly dying was a small price to pay for the situation he found himself in. He had Belle's attention, her kisses, her touch, and even if she was oblivious to the effect she had on him, this had still been the best day of his life.

The next four days were even better as he slowly regained his strength. Belle spent the bulk of her day with him, leaving only to work at the saloon or complete her chores. She talked to him, read to him, lavished him with attention, and Gold fell more in love with her by the hour. He'd adored the Belle he saw from afar, but the Belle who spent her days sitting with him was infinitely more complex and enticing. He _worshiped_ her.

Where Gold had once cursed his healing body for its weakness, now he cursed its returning strength, because the steadier he was the sooner he would have to leave. His presence had to be a strain on her although she never let it show, and soon he would have to leave her in peace. The thought hurt more than the bullet hole did. More than anything, he wanted an excuse to take her with him. He'd seen neither hide nor hair of Moe French since he'd been there, the older man clearly doing nothing to ease his daughter's burden. Gold could take her away from the father who didn't treasure her the way he should. He could protect her, provide for her, ensure she wanted for nothing.

As his wife she wouldn't have to lift a finger. He would happily take on the household tasks himself if she'd just come home with him. Doing women's work would be no shame if he was rewarded by Belle's smile and soft kisses.

As she read to him that afternoon, he allowed himself to daydream, seeing a gold band decorating Belle's finger that announced his claim to the world. They would never have to be separated, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy. Gold would move mountains just for the privilege of being allowed to rest his chin on her shoulder as she read and try to distract her with nibbling kisses to her vulnerable throat.

He slipped into a half doze when Belle left him to get ready for work, the beautiful images playing out before his eyes like a magic lantern show, and when he opened his eyes to see her leaning over him, it felt like another dream.

"Do you need anything before I go?" she asked softly, her hand on his shoulder, her lips inches from his.

Gold reached up to twine a lock of her hair around his finger, tugging gently to pull her closer. "I'm fine, love," he rumbled, lifting his head from the pillow to brush his lips against hers in a sweet goodbye kiss full of affection.

Belle's sharp intake of breath woke up out of his fantasy with more force than a punch to the gut. He jolted back, his fingers tangling in her hair and accidentally pulling as he tried to release her. "I'm sorry," he said hastily, not daring to look at her face. He couldn't bring himself to face the revulsion in her eyes, no matter how much he deserved it. "Miss Belle, I thought you were... I'm sorry."

"it's all right," she murmured, her voice carefully modulated to reveal no emotion. Gold was grateful for that. Belle was too much of a lady to let her disgust with him show. He was a _bastard_. Even now, knowing she must be frightened he'd grab her again, all he wanted to do was take her hand and pull her back down to him, seize her lips and kiss her again- harder this time, the way he'd been longing to kiss her for _years_. He clenched his fingers in the linens to make certain he didn't do just that.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she straightened her hair, one of her feathers coming loose to land on the floor. She didn't seem to notice, and he didn't have the nerve to call her back.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Gold sat up, running a shaking hand over his face. The last five days had been a dream come true, but now he'd ruined everything. Belle wouldn't trust him again. She'd be wary of him, always watching out for his wandering hands. He couldn't do that to her. He couldn't trust himself around her. If he stayed, it would only be a matter of time before he acted on his desires again, and the next time he might not be able to control himself well enough to stop.

Gold gathered his clothes and dressed swiftly, straightening the little bed as well as he could. No doubt she'd want to change the linens and eradicate any trace of him before she slept on it herself. He took one long last look around the room, committing to memory the place he'd spent some of the happiest hours of his life until his own stupidity and lack of control had doomed him to a life without her.

Belle's feather was still lying on the floor, and he bent down to retrieve it, stroking it between thumb and forefinger before pressing it to his lips. If he closed his eyes, he could almost catch the scent of her hair on it. Giving in to temptation, he tucked it into his breast pocket, wanting a memento of their time together, something to remind him that it had actually happened, that for a brief time he'd had Belle all to himself.

Making sure that he'd left no traces of himself behind to disturb her, Gold made his slow way down the stairs and out of the house, concentrating on the pain in his bad leg to distract him from the pain of leaving her without even a goodbye.

0 0 0 0 0

Belle was well-nigh useless at the saloon that night, the vast majority of her attention still back in her bedroom with Mr. Gold. She could still feel the warmth of his lips against hers, and she wished she could concentrate on that half of the memory instead of the part where he'd jerked away from her like she'd dumped cold water on him. It wasn't at all how she'd imagined her first kiss would go.

He'd looked up at her with such affection that she'd feared her heart would stop. Then he'd called her 'love' and kissed her, and everything in the world had seemed magical and perfect right up until the moment he let her go and started apologizing. He'd started to say that he'd thought she was someone else but stopped himself before he could finish. Belle was grateful for that. It was hard enough to know that his warm look and soft kiss hadn't really been meant for her at all; to hear him say it would have been unbearable.

She wove her way mechanically through the tables, wondering if they'd be able to put this behind them. She would have to be more careful now; she wouldn't be able to lounge on the bed beside him to feel his warmth or the solid comfort of his presence. Belle had lost much in her life, but she still had her pride, and she would not let him know how completely he'd captured her heart.

"You okay?" Ruby whispered, pulling her off to the side of the room, "You look tired. Is Gold running you ragged?"

Belle bit her tongue, hoping her face wouldn't betray her. "He's been perfectly easy to care for." Mr. Gold had been nothing but sweet and kind to her. Would she have fallen in love with any man who behaved so or was it something about him in particular that had won her over? She made a face as she tried to picture nursing George Clary instead, knowing no amount of compliments from him would ever provoke one tenth of the feeling in her that meeting Mr. Gold's warm brown eyes did.

Ruby was watching her closely, her face a picture of dismay. "Oh, Belle, you didn't. Did you?"

Tears stung her eyes, and she nodded miserably, needing to tell someone. Maybe if she gave voice to the emotion, she'd feel it less intensely. "I'm in love with him, Ruby."

"Oh, _Belle_." Ruby's arms went around her, hugging her close, then her friend was tugging her outside, ignoring the patrons who were waiting on drinks. "Sweetie, no. Not Gold. Anybody but Gold."

Belle leaned back against the wall of the saloon, staring up at the starry sky and struggling not to cry. Her eyes burned; her face felt hot, but if she gave in to the urge to cry, she feared she'd never stop. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't want me."

Beside her, Ruby flailed her hands helplessly then folded them in front of her. "He watches you," she said in a rush, like she didn't really want to say the words aloud, "Whenever he's in the saloon, he never stops watching you."

"He kissed me," Belle admitted, and Ruby made a strangled noise, "Then he _apologized_ for it. He was half-asleep, and he said he thought I was someone else."

"Like who? I've never heard anything about Gold and a woman, and I hear _everything_." Ruby leaned against the saloon next to her friend. "Look, this is not a good idea. Gold's not good enough for you, not by a long shot. He's not a good man. But if you want him, Belle... I've seen the way he looks at you."

Belle shook her head, afraid to take the hope her friend was offering. "Then why would he lie about it?"

"Because he's a man, and men are _idiots_!" Ruby exclaimed, her palms striking the rough wood of the building in frustration.

With a snuffly giggle, Belle shook her head, "Even Pastor Hopper?"

"Especially him!" her friend laughed, wrapping her arm around Belle, "I think you should forget this. Find someone else. But if Gold's what you want, I think he's already yours."

"You two are aware it's Saturday night at the saloon not Sunday quilting hour, right?" Granny demanded, sticking her head out the window, her sharp eyes raking over both of them. "Is something wrong?"

Ruby looked at Belle who wiped her eyes, hope bubbling through her veins. "No, nothing's wrong."

"Then get back to work!" the older woman ordered, something like amusement coloring her tone as she complained about lovelorn girls in a voice just loud enough to be overheard.

Belle hugged her friend in thanks before retrieving her tray, her mind racing as she thought about what she'd say to Mr. Gold when she got home. Perhaps she wouldn't say anything at all. He'd probably be asleep by the time she got back, and she could wake him with a kiss that she wouldn't apologize for.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, even her father's slurring descent into drunkenness not enough to put a damper on her mood. She dragged him away from his table and toward home the moment Ruby called out for her to leave- a bit earlier than usual and with an encouraging nod that bolstered Belle's courage even more.

She nearly shoved him up the steps and into his bedroom, waiting just long enough to make certain he landed on his bed and not the floor before she hurried to her own room, taking a moment to steady her breathing and smooth her hair before quietly opening the door, a faint smile playing about her lips as she thought about how Mr. Gold's mouth would feel against hers.

She needn't have bothered. The moonlight illuminated a neatly-made bed with no Mr. Gold in it, and a hasty glance around the room showed her that his clothes were missing too.

The knot of excitement in Belle's belly twisted painfully, turning hard and cold with dismay. Ruby had been wrong. She sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired even to stand. His kiss really had been a mistake; his hurried departure was proof of that. He couldn't have made it more clear if he tried that she meant nothing to him; she wasn't even worth the trouble of saying goodbye. Perhaps he was in a hurry to get back to the woman he'd mistaken her for.

Belle curled up on the bed, burying her face in her pillow and letting her breath out on a sob when she caught his scent still clinging to it, the faint aroma of musk and leather and clean straw breaking her heart. Courage gone, hope destroyed, she cried herself to sleep.

The next morning was no better, the overcast day a perfect match for Belle's dark mood. She prepared breakfast automatically, clanking pans against each other with no care for her father's faint moans of dismay as he sat waiting at the table. She was still exhausted after a restless night's sleep, and she wanted to break everything she touched, do _something_ to relieve the pressure of the misery bearing down upon her.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to control herself and gain some kind of mastery over her clumsy hands. Destroying things would feel good for the moment, but she'd be the one who'd have to clean up the mess afterward. Even so, she couldn't stop shaking, and her father's grunts of displeasure grew louder every time she knocked into something. "Keep it down, girl!"

"Sorry, papa," she murmured, hastily picking up the tea kettle in hope that the warm drink would settle his hangover and soothe his temper. He waved an irritable hand just as she leaned over his shoulder to pour the tea, and the hot liquid splashed over the back of his hand and up his forearm, soaking the thin cotton.

"_Goddamnit_, girl!" he shoved her away with one hand, and Belle flailed to keep her balance, accidentally striking his already-burned arm with the hot teapot. She heard the crack before she felt it, then pain exploded through her eye and the side of her face. She sat down hard on the floor, the teapot shattering on impact where she dropped it, and the hot tea soaked through her skirt as she stared up at her father in disbelief, one hand going to the side of her face where he'd backhanded her just above her cheekbone.

Moe French stared down at his daughter, his face twisted with anger that slowly smoothed into slack horror. "I... I..."

"Papa..." Belle's voice came out trembling and weak; she barely recognized it as her own.

"Go to your room," he said, sounding dazed.

Belle cleared her throat and tried again, not sure what she was going to say, "Papa-"

"_Go to your room_!" he boomed, and she started back instinctively, then picked herself off the floor and ran for the safety of her bedroom. She wedged her vanity chair beneath the doorknob, doubting that it would stop him if he wanted to get in. Sitting down on the bed, she thought hysterically that it was a good thing Mr. Gold had left the previous night, because if he'd been there when her father struck her, Moe French would already have a bullet in his head. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Mr. Gold would not stand for what had just happened.

Picking the copy of _Don Quixote_ off the nightstand, she wrapped her arms around it like a stuffed toy and curled up in the corner of her bed farthest from the door, straining her ears for some hint of what her father was doing. It had been an accident. He never would have struck her if he'd been in his right mind, but her father hadn't been in his right mind for years now, and Belle was at a loss. Her thoughts seemed scrambled like the blow had knocked them loose. All she could do was wait.

She tensed as she heard his heavy tread on the stairs, but he didn't even pause by her door, continuing on to his own room. A little later, she heard him return, and this time he did stop but made no effort to enter. "Stay in there," he ordered through the door.

"Y-yes, papa," she answered, hating how meek she sounded. No one had ever raised a hand to her before, and the sheer shock of her father hitting her had unbalanced her even more than the pain. She waited until she heard the front door open and close again, then went to the window to watch her father disappear down the street in the direction of the saloon. Her heart sank.

Belle changed her dress, draping the old one over the chair to dry, then looked in her mirror, gasping when she caught sight of herself. The side of her face was already shading to purple, and she knew she'd have a livid bruise by nightfall that would be impossible to explain away. She ground her teeth, fighting back tears, then crawled back into bed and wrapped herself in the covers, Mr. Gold's faint scent surrounding her like an embrace.

Desperately, she wanted him there. She wanted him to hold her like he did the night his fever had soared, and he'd crushed her against him like she was the only thing in the world keeping him together. Closing her eyes, she curled herself more tightly in the covers and wrapped her arms around herself, pretending it was him holding her and keeping her safe.

'I love you, Belle. I won't leave you,' her imaginary Mr. Gold promised, and she hugged herself harder, tears spilling down her cheeks. She huddled there, buried in her daydreams, until she heard the front door open again, and her father's voice called out, "Belle, come to the parlor please."

He didn't sound drunk which surprised her. Reluctantly, Belle untangled herself and straightened her clothes before leaving her room. Her father stood beside the fireplace, standing straighter than she'd seen him stand in some time. She hesitated in the doorway, hearing him suck in a breath at the sight of her face. "I'm sorry, Belle," he said steadily.

Belle sighed in relief. Perhaps this would be a turning point for him. She knew he felt guilty for striking her, but he hadn't drowned those feelings in a bottle. Maybe the worst was over, and she was going to get her father back. "I forgive you, papa."

He shuddered at her words like they were the last thing he wanted to hear, and Belle remained where she was, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine. His next words brought her world crashing down, "You can't stay here any longer. It's not safe for you."

"What?" she whispered, the word torn out through bloodless lips. He was throwing her out? He'd hit her and now he was _casting her out_? "Where am I supposed to go?"

Ruby and Granny would take her in, she thought quickly, but they couldn't afford to keep her indefinitely. Her father cleared his throat, distracting her from her thoughts, "You're a young woman, Belle. It's high time you were married."

He wouldn't meet her eyes and the chill of dread blossomed into full-blown panic. "Papa, what have you done?"

Like something out of a nightmare, George Clary stepped through the front door behind her, removing his hat and nodding to her. "I think we'll be very happy together."

"No!" she exclaimed, feeling frozen in place as George approached her, sliding his arm around her waist with sickening familiarity. She wrenched herself away, plastering herself against the wall to get as far away from him as she could.

"George is a good man," her father informed her, seemingly oblivious to his daughter's reaction, "He'll take care of you."

George ran his eyes over her body hungrily then licked his lips, and Belle's stomach churned. "Papa, don't do this," she begged, "I don't love him."

"You'll learn to," her father assured her, turning to shuffle away and picking up a bottle of whiskey from the floor beside the fireplace that she hadn't noticed before. Apparently he'd only been postponing the drinking, not giving it up entirely. "It's done, Belle. You'll be wed on Saturday."

Without another word, he left the pair of them alone, and Belle's eyes darted between the door and her new fiancee. "You can stop playing coy," George told her, stepping a little closer, "You're mine now."

She'd rather be _dead_ than his. Acting totally on instinct, Belle slammed her heel down on his foot, shoving him aside when he doubled over in pain and sprinting for the door, leaving it wide open behind her as she tore off down the dusty street like the hounds of hell were chasing her, her heart racing like a frightened rabbit.

She didn't stop until she reached Granny's house and crashed through the door without bothering to knock. The older woman took one look at her and sat her down in the kitchen, wrapping her fingers around a glass of whiskey and forcing her to drink as she called for Ruby.

The liquid burned all the way down, and Belle spluttered wondering how anyone could drink the stuff for pleasure. Even so, her head was beginning to clear, the shock receding slightly.

The story came out in halting increments as Granny pressed a cool cloth to the side of Belle's face and Ruby crouched in front of her while Belle outlined everything that had happened that day. When she finally finished, Ruby clutched her hands, saying in confusion, "But what about Gold? I can't believe he'd let-"

"He _left_!" Belle sobbed, those two words breaking her when nothing else had. "Last night. I came back, and he was _gone_." She collapsed into Ruby's arms, crying in earnest as her friend rubbed her back soothingly, not seeing the look the two women exchanged over her bowed head.

"You can stay here for now," Granny promised, stroking her hair gently, "Come now. You'll feel better once you've eaten something."

"We'll think of something," Ruby vowed, pulling back enough to look fiercely into Belle's eyes, "You are _not_ going to marry George Clary."

Granny put a bowl of soup and some fresh-baked bread in front of her, and although she didn't think she'd be able to eat a bite, once she started Belle realized she was ravenous. She was safe here for now, and they had a week to go before her wedding. Her wedding- it was a sickening thought. Surely, they'd be able to think of some way out before Saturday.

_Surely_, they would


	4. Chapter 4

It took less than a day to make the decision. Belle couldn't stay with Ruby and Granny forever- the three women were already tripping over each other in the small home- she couldn't go back to her father, and she _wouldn't_ marry George. The town had a respectable-enough boarding house, all gingerbread trim and fussy furnishings, and her wages from the saloon would keep her there for as long as she wanted to stay. It wasn't ideal, but it would do.

Belle only wished she could shake the guilt that consumed her when she thought about her plan. She'd been her father's only source of support for years, and no matter how poorly he was currently behaving, he was still her papa. If Belle had to spend her money on room and board, there would be nothing left for him. Granny had promised not to let him starve, but she still feared for what might happen to him without her there to care for him.

There was nothing for it though. She would _not_ be George Clary's wife, and neither Pastor Hopper nor Sheriff Swan would force her to take those vows. Uncharitably, she wondered if missing a few meals might do her father good. Maybe then he'd miss her.

Monday nights at the saloon were generally slow, but Belle was on the lookout for only one man, and Clary didn't disappoint her. He showed up early, a wide smile on his face as he spotted her. "There's my little wife," he grinned, sidling up to her. Belle smacked his hand as he tried to put it around her waist, but he followed her anyway as she lead the way to a corner of the saloon, not wanting to humiliate him by refusing him publicly.

"I will be no such thing," she told him clearly as soon as they were out of earshot of the other patrons. "I know what my father told you, but he does not own me. I will not marry you."

George's grin remained fixed in place, but it twisted into a grotesque thing, all teeth and aggression. He grabbed her upper arm hard enough to hurt, crowding her into the corner with his body. "I didn't ask for your opinion. Your father gave you to me, and you _will_ be my wife."

Belle glared up at him, trying to look as intimidating as possible. In less than a week she'd saved a man's life, fallen in love, and survived being struck and cast out by her father. George Clary held no terror for her. "You can't force me to wed you."

"Your father's a drunk," he reminded her with a sneer, "Without you around to look after him, it would be a shame if he had an accident."

Belle's blood ran cold. "You wouldn't," she breathed. Clary was an ass, but he wasn't _evil_. Surely he wouldn't really hurt her father if she refused.

His fetching smile was totally at odds with his next words. "The world isn't a nice place. Bad things happen to little girls who don't mind their manners." He ducked his head and pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue prising her lips apart and thrusting inside. Belle jerked back, cracking her head against the wall in her haste to get away, and he released her with a cheerful grin. "We'll be wed on Saturday."

Belle slumped against the wall, her mind racing. Could she go to the sheriff? What George was threatening was illegal, but he'd committed no actual crime yet. It was her word against his, and the word of a woman in a court of law was worth little. Worse, if he found out she'd acted against him, he might carry out his threat. Something about the look in his eyes told her it wasn't an idle one. For all that the entire town was frightened of Mr. Gold, Belle had never seen that terrifyingly soulless look in his brown eyes. George was a _monster_.

She had no choice, she realized bleakly. All her plans for a quiet life on her own had shattered in one hideous moment, and the future stretched out before her in harrowing detail. She was to be George Clary's wife.

Feeling like she was watching herself from outside of her body, Belle completed her shift, smiling and chatting and pouring drinks like a wind-up doll. She couldn't feel her aching feet or her sore shoulder. She couldn't feel much of anything until she was tucked up in bed with Ruby after the saloon closed, and the whole story came pouring out. Her friend held her, stroking her hair and offering her a handkerchief, but Belle wasn't crying. She was beyond tears now.

"I can't let him hurt my father," she murmured, hating herself for wishing that she could. Moe French would always be her papa, and she wouldn't be able to live with herself if he came to harm because of a choice she made. Belle _wished_ she didn't care, wished that she could shut him out of her heart as easily as he seemed to have shut her out of his, but she couldn't.

"Do you really think he'd..." Ruby trailed off, unable to say the words.

"You didn't see his eyes," Belle said bleakly, remembering that empty, cold look. "He'd kill papa. And if I kept saying no, he'd probably kill me."

"What about Gold?" the other girl suggested, sounding desperate. "He'd help if you asked."

Belle smiled bitterly at the mention of her beloved. Mr. Gold was a gentleman, and he'd offer her his aid if she went to him for help even though he felt nothing for her. Even he had his limits though. "What could he do? Shoot George? I won't ask him to do that. I don't want anyone to die because of me, and there's no other way to stop him."

"You could marry him," Ruby tried, "George couldn't get upset about you not marrying him if you were already married."

"He doesn't want me," Belle reminded her, and even those words couldn't penetrate her shroud of numbness, "He's not going to marry me, and even if he did, it'd be worse to be married to him knowing he doesn't love me than it would be to marry George."

"I don't think anything would be worse than marrying George," Ruby muttered, but she stopped arguing the matter.

The rest of the week passed in a blur as Belle tried her best to enjoy her last days of freedom. She avoided George as much as possible, pleading a headache when he came to Granny's to see her and letting Ruby handle his usual table at the saloon. There were no more of those wet, intrusive kisses, but she shuddered to think about what was waiting for her on her wedding night. Mentally, she steeled herself for the upcoming ordeal. She'd be obedient to him and hopefully it would be over with quickly. Perhaps he would soon get her with child, and she'd have an excuse to ward off his advances.

The thought of children lightened her spirits a bit. Belle had always longed for a family of her own, and although she wouldn't be having the blue eyed children with messy brown hair she'd allowed herself to dream about while Mr. Gold was still sleeping in her bed, she would still love any babies George managed to give her. They'd be blameless in this, and she would teach them to be gentle and kind, like the father they should have had.

She tried to force away any thoughts of Mr. Gold. Their strange idyll was over now, and Belle wanted to save the sweet memories for when she truly needed their comfort. She didn't want to wear them out now, especially since it looked like she would be making no new ones. No one but Belle had seen Mr. Gold since the night he was shot, and she herself hadn't seen him in nearly a week. Although he'd seemed to be healing well enough, anything could have happened in that time. She didn't even know if he still breathed, but she knew he must. Surely she would feel it if something had happened to him. Some part of her soul would die if he was no longer on this earth. She'd _know_.

Belle liked the thought that he was out there somewhere, living his life even if she wasn't part of it. Maybe he'd think of her sometimes, the woman who'd saved his life. The scar the bullet had left would mark him permanently, just like he'd left his mark on her heart. It wasn't much of a connection, but it was better than nothing.

She tried to treat the night before her wedding like any other night, glad it was a Friday. The mood in the room was boisterous, and she tried to lose herself in the laughter, keeping her eyes resolutely away from Mr. Gold's empty table and the rowdy group at the center of the saloon that her intended was the heart of. Her father was there somewhere, passed out on a table, and she wanted to scream and strike him, to force him to see what he'd done to her. She wanted to crawl into her papa's arms and hear him say he'd protect her, that he'd take her away from all of this and she'd never have to see George again. She wanted to go _home_.

None of that was possible, so Belle kept circling and circling, blocking out everything that wasn't part of the comforting rhythm of serving drinks. So intent was she on her task that it took her a long time to notice the saloon had gone strangely quiet, all attention focused on the group in the center of the room that she'd avoided even looking at. Dreading what she'd see, she turned her eyes to George, shock making her head swim dangerously for a moment.

Her intended was immersed in a poker game, a common enough pastime. Several of his friends were scattered around the table, arranging and rearranging their own cards, but George's attention was riveted to the man sitting opposite him, his opponent staring him down with the same intensity a hawk would use to watch a rabbit.

Mr. Gold had returned to Storybrooke.

0 0 0 0 0

A week after sneaking out of the French home like a thief in the night, Gold finally felt strong enough to face Belle again. It had been years since he'd gone a full week without seeing her, and after the five blissful days he'd spent with her, it felt like an eternity. He _needed_ to see her- needed it desperately. He needed to see her face and hear her voice and have her smile turned on him again. He needed her arms around him and her mouth under his and her sweet voice crooning her love for him. He needed ridiculous, impossible things, and that was why he stayed away. If he went to her now- and there were so, so many moments he could scarcely restrain himself from going to her- he'd do something foolish. He'd hurt her or scare her, and so he stayed away.

She haunted his dreams as his body healed. Every night she came to him with words of love and sweet kisses Gold would happily sell his soul for. He woke reaching for her, his body aflame, and he cursed his imagination for torturing him with images of things that could never be. Belle didn't love him. Belle would _never_ love him. There were moments he wondered if he'd dreamed their time together. Only the neat stitches in his side and his stolen feather kept him from believing he'd gone mad.

Even after a week of his handling, the feather still retained traces of Belle's rose scent. He held it, stroked it endlessly, his one memento of her. He kept it with him at all times, tucked securely into his breast pocket when he was doing work around the cabin, afraid to let it out of his sight. It was his most precious treasure, and he couldn't let it be lost. As long as he had the feather, he had Belle with him, if only a small piece of her.

By Friday, Gold was near to climbing the walls. He couldn't stay away forever; he _had_ to see her. Even if she wouldn't welcome his presence, he had to see for himself that he'd done her no real damage with his reckless kiss. Giving up on the promises he'd made himself that he would leave her alone and not subject her to his hungry stares, he saddled Imp and rode for town.

Even for a Friday, it was too early for Belle to be working, but Gold made his way to the saloon anyway, settling in at his usual table to wait. He'd apologize, he decided. He owed her that much for leaving without a word after all her kindness. After that, he'd leave her strictly alone. He wouldn't even stare at her. Much.

Gold growled to himself as George Clary entered the saloon, surrounded by a whooping group of his fellow ranch hands. Spirits were clearly high, and Gold brushed his fingers over his gun, reassuring himself of its presence in case Clary forgot his earlier lesson about Belle in his excitement. The bastard would not touch her again.

To his surprise, Ruby approached his table, plunking down a glass of whiskey and not scurrying away as he would have expected. She remained at his elbow, looking at the rowdy group of men. "Are you coming to the wedding?" she asked him without actually looking at him, her body tense.

Gold sipped at the whiskey to cover his confusion. He liked to think he missed little that happened in town, but after his week's self-exile, apparently he'd lost the plot. The obvious pair was Ruby herself and Pastor Hopper, but the tone of her voice wasn't that of a joyous bride-to-be, and it didn't feel like an invitation. "Whose?"

Ruby nodded at the carousing group, "George Clary." Gold was aware of her watching him out of the corner of her eye as she continued, "And Belle."

His grip on the glass tightened so hard Gold was shocked it didn't shatter in his hand. "_What?_" his voice was a snarl, a sound of pure animalistic rage, but Ruby's shoulders relaxed at the sound.

Gold was tense enough for the both of them, literally vibrating with fury. Although he knew he'd have to watch his Belle fall in love someday, it would be with a man worthy of her, not George fucking Clary. She didn't even _like_ Clary, much less love him. None of this made any sense.

"Her father set it up," Ruby explained, nodding at Belle as she walked out of the back and onto the saloon floor, "It's tomorrow afternoon."

One part of the mystery was solved if this was all Moe French's idea. His motivation was murky, but Gold could only assume it involved his beloved bottle. Had he sold her perhaps?

He'd double the offer, whatever it was, Gold thought wildly, barely able to keep his face composed as Belle got closer to him, still oblivious to his presence. She might not love him, but she certainly didn't love Clary, and he at least would treat her well. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, but it still took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. What he'd thought was a shadow gradually grew more distinct as she turned to speak to one of the patrons, letting him see her profile.

There was a fading bruise decorating the side of her face, purple shading to green around the edges, obscene against her pale skin. Gold's fingers found his gun, tightening around the grip convulsively. He'd struck her. The bastard had _struck_ her, and her father was going to marry her off to him anyway.

He'd kill them. Both of them.

Through the roaring in his ears, he became aware that Ruby was still talking. "-doesn't want to marry him, but she doesn't have any choice. He threatened her father if she broke it off."

A quick death was too good for George Clary. The son of a bitch deserved to have his flesh stripped from his bones for doing this. To force himself on _any_ woman was appalling, to do it to Belle was an atrocity. Gold tensed further, already measuring the angles in his head for the best shot, and Sheriff Swan was suddenly in his line of sight, standing between him and Belle and blocking her from his view. He craned his neck to look around her, not wanting his beloved out of his sight, but the blond woman moved with him, her arms folded as she stared him down. He and the sheriff had an understanding. Everyone knew the stories about him, but there was no actual proof connecting him to his past crimes. If Gold didn't make trouble, Swan let him walk the streets of Storybrooke, although he knew she'd love to do otherwise. Gunning down George Clary in the middle of a crowded saloon could possibly be construed as making trouble. She'd throw away the key.

Jail was a small enough price to pay for Belle's happiness, but if he was locked up, who would protect her? Clearly her father was incapable and there was only so much Ruby and Granny Lucas could do with their limited resources. The fact that Ruby had come to him was proof enough of that.

Someone had to protect Belle, and she might hate him for it, but it seemed he was her only option. Nodding tightly at the sheriff, he acknowledged that her message had been clearly received, and she moved away to sit along the periphery of the room, her eyes alert to any disturbance. Belle wasn't even looking in his direction, busying herself by pouring drinks for the rest of the clientele. Clearly she was angry with him; Gold wasn't sure why- for kissing her, for abandoning her, for not rescuing her immediately when her father cast her off, there were so many ways he'd wronged her- all he knew was that his Belle was angry with him, and it _hurt_.

No doubt she'd be even angrier after what he was suddenly planning to do. "Clary's fond of poker, isn't he?" he murmured to Ruby who was unaccountably still standing at his side.

She glanced down at him in surprise, then her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "He loves it. He'll bet almost anything to stay in a game."

Gold nodded slowly, his eyes grim. "I hope so."

He was a good poker player, but that was all he was: good. He'd seen men who played brilliantly, who could make an easy living at the game, but he wasn't one of them, and he'd never had any real interest in developing whatever natural talent he had. It hadn't seemed important.

He was regretting that now as Pastor Hopper dealt him into the game that Gold had had Ruby get Granny to organize in celebration of Clary's impending nuptials- nuptials that would never take place if Gold had anything to say about it. His only real advantage was that Clary liked the game and had tremendous faith in his own abilities. He'd seen the man bet his horse in hopes of retaking all that he'd lost over the course of a game, and he generally succeeded. Now that Clary had something far more valuable to wager- sickening as it was to think of treating Belle like a piece of property- Gold meant to bluff and push and manipulate until she was part of the pot. Once that happened, he'd win. There was no other option. He'd take her from Clary by wit instead of by force and marry her himself. No doubt she'd be horrified, but he would not- _would not-_ leave her in the hands of a man who would strike her. He'd spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to her, and perhaps in a decade or two she might actually forgive him for it.

For the first few hands he played conservatively, keeping a close eye on his opponents, looking for any tells. He called on the powers of observation honed over years of struggling to keep himself alive. Now something much more valuable than his own life was at stake, and he hoped his meager talents would be enough. Hopper already looked pinched, the man of the cloth no doubt not condoning the gambling he was abetting, but Gold could think of no other man he'd trust to deal fairly.

It immediately became apparent that he and Clary were the two best players in the game and the other man was devoting most of his attention to him. That suited Gold fine. Using every dirty trick he'd culled from a lifetime of misdeeds, he set to work putting Clary off his game. He did nothing overt, nothing that would get him thrown out of the game, just intimidated and antagonized. Evil looks and half-muttered comments combined to get under the other man's skin. He needed Clary on edge, emotional, and he needed all his wits about him. Even when he felt Belle's gaze on him, he didn't look up. Not until this was over. Not until he won.

They were splitting hands almost evenly, the pot slowly growing in size. Clary's eyes were bright, clearly enjoying both the challenge and the opportunity to take Gold down a few pegs. That was good for him. If he was thinking about revenge, he would have less attention to spare for strategy. They'd attracted attention from the start, but in the intervening time the saloon had gone quiet, every eye focused on them. That meant cheating was off the table as an option. It was too risky with that many people watching him. He'd win Belle fairly or not at all.

One by one the other players dropped out until it was just the two of them, and the pot continued to grow, reaching proportions a ranch hand couldn't match without doing something foolish. Gold raised and raised again; he had money enough, ill-gotten gains from his past crimes, but he wanted Clary thinking of alternate possibilities. He wagered his horse.

Clary's face twisted into a satisfied smile, clearly thinking Gold was getting desperate. He matched the bet with his own horse, and they showed their cards, Clary's four sevens easily taking Gold's flush.

With a triumphant smile, Clary swept the pot toward him as the crowd murmured, waiting to see how Gold would react. Swan approached the table, watching his hands sharply, but Gold didn't lay a finger on his gun. "I'm sure you won't deny me the chance to reclaim my horse."

Clary's smile faded and the man leaned forward avidly, the chance to clean Gold out more than he could resist. "What else have you got, old man?"

Gold didn't let the insult register. "My cabin. My land. One more hand takes all."

Clary's eyes darted as he tried to think what he had of equal value. He rented rooms, so he couldn't match like for like. As far as Gold knew, the man had a single option, and as he watched, Clary's greedy eyes sought Belle. "You'll like this, Gold," he sneered, pushing the pot back into the center of the table, "Your land for my fiancée. I've seen how you look at her."

_Finally_. Gold's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression inscrutable as he nodded once, accepting the wager. He watched the cards as they were dealt, not touching until all five were in front of him. Then he picked them up one by one, careful not to let his face betray him. The ace of hearts came first, and he considered that a good omen. Next was the jack of diamonds, another high card, but not one that worked with what he had unless he could draw a straight. Gold had hoped for something slightly more impressive than that. The jack of clubs came next, and four of a kind would be workable. The jack was followed by the ace of spades, giving him a fairly pathetic two pair. The last card, the eight of hearts, was beyond useless, and Gold examined his options. Four aces would be difficult to beat, but he didn't like his odds of pulling two more. His only real choice was to discard the eight and pray for another jack or ace. Even then, the resulting full house would hardly be unbeatable. The cards in his hand limited what Clary might have, but he wouldn't need high cards if the other man had four of a kind, even if it was four twos.

With a brush of his fingers against his breast pocket for luck, Gold discarded the eight, waited to receive its replacement, and _prayed_. If he lost, he'd blow Clary's fool head off and take his chances with the sheriff. He didn't fancy the idea of being hanged for his sins, but if it ensured Belle's safety, he'd willingly go to the gallows.

With a hand he did not allow to tremble, Gold picked up his final card.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle's heart was in her throat as she watched the game, the tension in the saloon running so high she felt like she must scream or go mad. Ruby's arms were around her, holding her tightly. There were no drinks to serve; no one was looking away from the two poker players long enough to drink what they had. Even her father was on the outskirts of the crowd, and Belle couldn't interpret the look on his face.

As the pot grew and the other players dropped out of the game, unable to meet the stakes, Belle clenched her fingers hard enough to hurt. Mr. Gold was clearly up to something- he wouldn't be giving George the time of day if he wasn't- but she didn't know what, only that it must somehow involve her. His shoulders were tense, a hard, intractable line, and he wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking anywhere but at George, his focus unwavering and terrifying.

Somehow, Belle knew what was going to happen the moment the two men moved from wagering cash to other bets. She felt a flash of outrage, but no real surprise when George risked her for the opportunity of taking everything away from Mr. Gold, and she didn't miss the grim satisfaction in Mr. Gold's eyes when George placed that bet. That was what he'd _wanted_ the man to do, she realized. He was planning to save her by winning her in a game of poker like she was a pocket watch.

Although the thought of being traded like an object didn't sit well with Belle, she couldn't argue with the sentiment. Mr. Gold had risked his very home for the chance to win her from George. She felt an insane urge to laugh when Ruby hissed in her ear, "I told you so." Maybe her friend was right after all, maybe he did feel something for her. No man would take such a risk merely for the sake of duty.

Both men were inscrutable as they looked at their cards. There was no hint of satisfaction in either face, and all Belle could do was close her eyes and pray that Mr. Gold would have the better hand. He took one card; George took two, and the moment of reckoning was suddenly upon them.

Her eyes went to Mr. Gold's cards first: a full house- aces and jacks. Feeling faint, she turned to George: another full house- kings and nines. A sob of pure relief tore itself from her throat, then George lunged across the table at Mr. Gold only to be brought up short by the other man's gun pressing snugly against the soft spot under his jaw.

"You cheated," Clary hissed, brave or foolish enough not to back down.

"I _won_," Mr. Gold countered in a terrifyingly quiet voice. "She's mine now, and if you so much as _breathe_ on her again I will put you down like a rabid dog. Do you understand the rules?"

George swallowed so hard that Belle could see his throat move from where she was. Then he stepped back and nodded, eyes sparkling with humiliation and malice.

'She's mine.' The words echoing in Belle's head both thrilled and frightened her. She wasn't an object, a thing to be owned, yet when Mr. Gold said that a rush of heat filled her that made her legs tremble and she could think of nothing she'd like better than to be his, except possibly to call him hers.

Belle wasn't sure what to do. Every eye in the saloon was on her and Mr. Gold, but the urge to simply fling herself into his arms was almost overwhelming. He'd saved her from a future she'd dreaded and risked all he had to claim her for his own. If she hadn't loved him already, she would have after that.

Before she could move, her father stumbled closer to Mr. Gold, shaking his head. "You can't," he pleaded, his words slightly slurred. "My Belle... She's just a girl."

Belle wanted to throw something at him for that remark, and she was grimly pleased when Mr. Gold rounded on her father. "A girl? You should have thought of that before you _cast her out_."

Moe French cringed away from the furious man, the circle of people around them having taken a few steps back. Everyone was still watching but no one wanted to be too close for fear of bloodshed. Mr. Gold looked around at all of them before his eyes met hers for the first time that evening. Something dark and fierce lurked in their depths, and Belle's breath caught in her throat. She held his gaze as he said in a more gentle tone, "I would speak to my fiancée. Miss Belle?" He offered her his arm, and she took it gratefully, clinging to him for support as he led her out of the saloon and around the side of the building where they could speak with some privacy.

"Thank you," she gasped, letting go of him reluctantly to lean against the side of the building and try to calm her still-racing heart. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Gold."

He nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable with her thanks. "I... apologize for how I did it," he said quietly, elaborating, "For gambling for you."

His words soothed her hurt pride at being treated like property. "You're not the one who wagered me," she reassured him and tried to smile, "At least I was worth a cabin and some land."

Mr. Gold moved a little closer to her at that before quickly stopping himself. "You're worth far more than that," he said, his voice almost angry.

Something sweet and joyous bubbled through Belle at the look on his normally-impassive face, then another thought left her cold. "What about Papa?" she asked, her heart sinking. Mr. Gold had threatened George if he hurt her, but her father had no one to protect him. Would revenge on her be motivation enough for George to hurt her father?

Mr. Gold shrugged, "I don't think I'm what he wanted for you," he said drily.

"No, that's not what I meant. George threatened to hurt Papa if I didn't marry him," she explained quickly, hoping he'd be willing to defend her father as well as her, "He's angry now. What if he wants revenge?"

Mr. Gold's mouth compressed into a grim line, a look he'd never turned on her before. "I can't say that I care," he said gruffly, "He sold you to a man who struck you. He deserves whatever Clary does."

Belle winced as he dismissed her concern, then she registered the rest of what he'd said. "George didn't hit me," she explained, wondering if her next words would make things better or worse, "Papa did. It was an accident. He was... unwell.

"Drunk, you mean," he gritted out, and the look in his eyes frightened her. She'd never seen such black rage in anyone's face before. There was murder in Mr. Gold's eyes, and for the first time she realized why everyone was scared of him.

She had no reason for fear though. That look wasn't aimed at her. "That's why he gave me to George; he was trying to protect me."

Mr. Gold nodded tightly. "At least he was trying to do something right," he acknowledged.

"Will you help him?" Belle pleaded, "He doesn't mean any harm, truly he doesn't. He wasn't always like this."

He stared into her eyes, tense and unsmiling, and Belle knew he'd refuse. She bit her lip, fighting back tears, and something seemed to break in him when she did that. Mr. Gold sighed silently, his shoulders slumping a little. "I'll make sure Clary knows that if anything happens to your father, I'll be holding him personally responsible."

"Thank you," she breathed, acting on impulse and throwing her arms around him in a grateful hug. Mr. Gold went rigid at her touch, and for a moment it was like embracing a statue. Then his arms wrapped around her, his hands splaying carefully on her back.

"Do you want this, Belle?" he asked quietly, his voice almost lost to the night. "I won't marry you against your will."

For the life of her, Belle wasn't sure what to say. He was offering her an escape. She could go back to her original plan to stay in the boarding house and continue to work for Granny without fear George would harm her. Mr. Gold had vowed to protect her and her father, and she knew he'd do so whether she was his wife or not. Perhaps he'd prefer to keep his freedom. Saving her hadn't necessarily been a declaration of love. Then again, it could have been just that. Either way, if she refused him now, she somehow knew he would stay well away from her in the future, and that was the last thing Belle wanted. Swallowing down her fear, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Do _you_? I don't want you to marry me because you think you owe me something."

His grip on her tightened a little bit, pulling her into him until she could feel the heat of his body. Belle closed her eyes and took a sharp breath at the suddenly close embrace. "Nothing would make me happier," he said roughly, "I'll try to be a good husband to you."

Her heart sang at his words, and Belle clung to him in relief as much as joy. Ruby had been right: he did care for her. "Then I'd be honored to be your wife."

Mr. Gold made a soft noise at that, then his mouth was on hers again, warm and gentle and far better than before because this time Belle knew he was thinking about _her_. One of his hands was splayed over her back, pressing her against him as his other hand cradled the side of her face and held her in position for his kiss. Not sure what to do with her own hands, Belle clung to his shoulders, then dared to let her fingers stray to his hair, burrowing into the warm strands. He broke away from her with a gasp and rested his forehead against hers. Belle could feel his breath gusting against her face, and that was almost more intimate than the kiss itself.

More than anything Belle wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him to kiss her and _keep_ kissing her, preferably forever, so she could revel in the glorious feel of his mouth against hers and the way her stomach fluttered and spine shivered at his touch. She played aimlessly with the hair at the back of his neck, licking her lips as she tried to will him to understand what she wanted but couldn't quite ask for.

Mr. Gold's eyes seemed riveted to her mouth, but he didn't lower his head again. Instead, he said in a rough voice, "Do you think Pastor Hopper's still inside?"

"I suppose so," she said, disappointed, then his meaning registered. He wanted to marry her _now_. "Tonight?" she squeaked, not sure if she was more thrilled or terrified by the idea. It was an even mixture of both really.

"If you'd rather wait-" he began, but Belle shook her head immediately. If Mr. Gold wanted to make her his wife tonight, if he was that eager for her to be his, she wouldn't argue. "I'll feel better having you under my protection as soon as possible," he explained, and her heart fell a little but she didn't allow herself to be disappointed. At least he still wanted to marry her, even if it was just to protect her from George.

"We should go back inside then and catch him before he leaves," she suggested, reluctantly sliding her hands out of his hair. He didn't let her go however, and she gasped as his mouth came down on hers again in a fast, firm kiss. His tongue brushed against the inside of her lower lip, and Belle's knees turned to water. Had he kissed her a moment longer, she would have collapsed in a puddle at his feet, but he released her, taking her arm again to lead her back inside.

Business in the saloon hadn't gone back to normal. There were clumps of people everywhere, buzzing like bees, and they all turned to stare as Belle and Mr. Gold reentered. She didn't see George anywhere, but her father was at his usual table, gulping down a bottle of whiskey someone had given him like it was water and looking twice his age. She wasn't sure if she wanted to embrace him or strike him. Instead she chose to ignore him in favor of finding Pastor Hopper who was deep in conversation with Ruby. Her friend's eyes sought her anxiously as she and Mr. Gold approached the pair, and Belle nodded, unable to help the small smile that lit her face. Ruby beamed and launched herself into Belle's arms, forcing her to release her hold on Mr. Gold.

"I told you," her friend whispered in her ear, her breath tickling her neck, "I told you he cared about you."

"I should have listened," Belle admitted, hugging back fiercely.

Behind them, Mr. Gold was speaking quietly to Pastor Hopper who looked ill at ease. When she and Ruby let go of each other, the pastor turned to her, "This is what you want, Miss French?"

Belle nodded, careful to keep her expression calm and happy. Mr. Gold had saved her, and she wouldn't let any trace of her nervousness show on her face for fear that he or someone else might think her unwilling. "Right now?" Ruby exclaimed, catching hold of Belle's arm in a tight grip.

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows at her, but Ruby stood her ground. "We at least have to fix your hair first and get rid of that apron," she scolded Belle, pulling her friend towards the back, "I'll bring her back in a few minutes, Mr. Gold!"

Mr. Gold watched them go, looking a bit nonplussed by the turn of events. Belle allowed herself to be dragged across the saloon and into the back where Granny met both of them. "Do you want to do this?" the older woman demanded immediately.

Belle thought back on Mr. Gold's tender kiss, and any doubts she'd been harboring evaporated. "I love him."

"There's no need to rush," Granny reminded her, then shook her head. "There's no use arguing; I know a moonstruck girl when I see one. I just hope you're doing the right thing."

"He loves her," Ruby interjected as she went to work on Belle's hair, pulling the feathers out of her updo to arrange it in a less practical, more flattering style. "When I told him she was marrying George, he looked like someone shot him."

"He's usually pretty calm when that happens," Belle pointed out without thinking, smiling to herself as she thought about the incident that had brought them together.

"Well, he wasn't calm about you getting married!" Ruby exclaimed, as Granny untied Belle's apron and helped her smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. Belle half-wished she'd had time to prepare something nicer, but when she'd been marrying George it hadn't seemed worth the bother, and now that she was marrying Mr. Gold it wasn't important enough to wait on. She shivered as she replayed the words in her head: she was marrying Mr. Gold.

By the time the three women returned to the saloon floor, Pastor Hopper seemed to have gotten things organized. Most of the patrons were streaming out in the direction of the town's small church. Moe French was still at his table, staring at his empty bottle, and Granny let go of Belle. "I'll take care of him," she vowed, waving the the two girls on ahead.

Like any girl, Belle had dreamed about her wedding day, but she'd never quite imagined anything like this. She'd certainly assumed she'd be betrothed for more than an hour before taking her vows, but she found that the rush helped more than anything. She simply didn't have _time_ to be nervous. Most of the town had turned out for the wedding, possibly more out of curiosity than a desire to share the ceremony with Mr. Gold and his bride. There were no flowers or decorations in the little church but the candles were lit. Most events at the church were held during daylight hours, and to see it just in the light of candles was nearly magical.

Ruby at her side, Belle joined Mr. Gold at the altar, his dark eyes intent on her. He'd said almost nothing since she'd promised him her hand, but the expression on his face when she entered the church had spoken volumes. He hadn't been able to completely hide his surprise at the sight of her, and Belle wondered if he'd expected her to change her mind and run. Even now, he was looking at her like he couldn't quite believe she was real.

While Pastor Hopper began to speak the traditional words, she squeezed his hands, relieved when he squeezed back immediately, a silent communication of reassurance. Belle hardly heard a word of the ceremony, too enraptured by the way Mr. Gold was looking at her. Surely her heart was in her eyes. Her voice was clear and strong when she made her vows, sounding almost unnaturally loud to her own ears, but a faint smile dawned on his too-serious face as she promised to love him for the rest of her life.

When it was his turn, his voice was low and firm, the promises meant for her ears alone. He never looked away from her eyes as he vowed to love and cherish her until death, and in that moment she could almost believe that Ruby was right and he meant it. She _so_ hoped he meant it. Belle gasped as he slid the ring onto her finger, and she glanced down in awe only to find herself wearing what looked an awful lot like a ring off a horse's bridle. Mr. Gold shrugged almost imperceptibly, looking a bit sheepish, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Apparently this evening wasn't turning out like _either_ of them had planned. Belle couldn't say that she was sorry for it.

There were no cheers when Pastor Hopper told Mr. Gold that he could kiss his bride, but the small smile on her husband's face was enough for Belle. She beamed at him, making their first married kiss a little awkward, and his quiet chuckle made her heart race. They were _married_. They were married, and they'd be happy, and everything was going to be just fine now.

The crowd seemed dazed as the newlyweds left the church, pausing at the last pew to speak with Moe French. Her father looked strangely sober despite all the whiskey she'd seen him drink that evening, and the look on his face was anguished. She clung to Mr. Gold's arm, needing his strength as she asked, "Will you give us your blessing, papa?"

"Belle," his voice was ragged and strained, his eyes bloodshot as he looked back and forth between her and Mr. Gold. "What have you done?"

"I'm not sorry," she said fiercely, blinking back tears at her father's reaction.

In response, he just shook his head and stared at the floorboards between his feet, and Belle wanted to scream. Mr. Gold patted her hand gently where it rested on his arm, and she allowed herself to be guided past the pew and out the door, taking a grateful breath of the night air.

Granny joined them a moment later with a bag in her hand. "It was a lovely ceremony. Congratulations to both of you."

Belle hugged her as her husband said, "Thank you, Mrs. Lucas," and sounded like he meant it.

"Papa's upset," she confessed, and Granny patted her on the back.

"Men never like anything that isn't their own idea," she said briskly. "He'll come around. Now, I've packed up your things for you." Detaching herself from Belle, she handed the bag to Mr. Gold, who took it automatically.

Nodding politely to the pair of them, he murmured, "I'll be back in a few minutes, ladies."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Granny dragged Belle around the corner of the church for privacy as the rest of the townsfolk started to spill out the front doors. "Do you know what to expect from tonight?" she asked with a not-unsympathetic look.

Belle's face flamed as she thought about the implications of Granny's question. She hadn't thought any further than simply marrying Mr. Gold. The thought of actually being a _wife_ had never crossed her mind. "I... I think so," she managed, struggling to catch her breath, "I read papa's medical books."

Granny snorted, "Well, it's a start." Lowering her voice, she continued, "Some men like to cause pain, but I don't think your Mr. Gold is like that. He'll be careful with you. Just make sure he goes slow. If he does something that hurts or that you don't like, _tell him_. Men aren't mind readers."

Belle nodded, trying to file all the advice away as Granny went on, "Anything that feels good to you will feel good to him. Men like it when you touch and make noise, and when they're happy, they'll do anything for you. Decent men are easy to manage."

She wasn't sure how she felt about the prospect of 'managing' Mr. Gold, but she supposed she'd already done so when he was injured. The idea of getting him to do her bidding with a kiss instead of a threat to shoot him if he disobeyed was much more pleasant. Before she could ask anything else, Ruby came flying around the corner, nearly knocking her down with the force of her hug. "Belle! You're _married_!"

Laughing at her friend's enthusiasm, Belle hugged back, the words ringing in her ears. She was a married woman now. It hardly seemed possible. Mere hours ago she'd been dreading the thought of married life with George, and now she was Mrs. Gold. Surreptitiously, she pinched her arm to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Gold's voice came from behind her, and she turned to see her husband silhouetted against the dark street, leading his horse.

Taking a deep breath, Belle smiled and nodded, hugging both Ruby and Granny goodbye. This was the last time they'd see Belle French. On her next visit she'd be Belle Gold in truth as well as in name, and the thought thrilled her. She approached the horse with some trepidation, and Mr. Gold took her hand in his, guiding it to pat the animal's nose.

"This is Imp," he introduced her, and the horse snuffled at her hand rather like an overlarge cat. "I know you don't ride, but six miles is too far for you to walk at this hour." She patted the horse, liking its intelligent eyes. If she had to get on a horse, Belle was glad it was this one. Mr. Gold would make sure she came to no harm.

She knew the basics just from observation, but she wasn't prepared for the way her skirts rode up her legs as he helped her into the saddle. Blushing, she tried to push them back down, but there was no helping matters as she sat astride the big horse. A moment later her husband mounted behind her, his hands gently coaxing her to lean back against him and showing her how to move with the horse as he took the reins.

Belle felt like she was lurching a bit, but Mr. Gold's arm was snug around her waist, making certain she couldn't overbalance and slip off. "You're a natural," he praised her, his voice so close in her ear that it made her shiver. His body was warm and solid at her back, promising her his strength and protection, and even though her legs were spread uncomfortably wide over Imp's back, Belle still took pleasure in the ride.

0 0 0 0 0

The combination of guilt and euphoria was starting to make his head ache. Gold adjusted his grip on Belle, trying to support her without touching her too much because Imp's smooth gait was rocking her hips back against him, and the sheer effort of not reacting was driving him mad. She was pressed up against him, her sweet little body moving against his in the most erotic way, and she was blissfully unaware of the direction his mind was tending.

Gold inhaled deeply, taking in the rose scent of Belle's hair, and tried to convince himself that he was awake and this was really happening. Belle was his _wife_. After years of hopeless longing she was his at last. It couldn't be true.

Perhaps it shouldn't be, he thought with a pang. He'd saved her from Clary and taken advantage of her very natural gratitude to get her to promise herself to him. He'd married her within the hour, afraid she'd change her mind if he gave her a chance to think about it. It was a fair trade, he tried to convince himself. Belle needed his protection, and he needed _her_. He'd be a good husband. He'd make her happy.

The six mile ride to the cabin seemed to take both forever and no time at all. Before he knew it, he was helping Belle down off Imp and trying not to stare at her legs. As he lowered her to the ground, she winced, stumbling a little as she tried to walk. He slid his arm around her waist to support her, realizing immediately what had happened. Six miles wasn't far, but for a woman who didn't ride it must have seemed endless. Of course she'd be stiff and sore, and no doubt she'd feel worse in the morning. It wasn't the most auspicious of starts.

Retrieving her bag and nudging Imp off toward the barn, Gold led his bride into his cabin, trying to see it through her eyes as he lit the lanterns. The single room was well-constructed and neat enough, but it was painfully obvious it was a bachelor abode. There was no color and little softness to the furnishings that had been chosen for practicality over comfort. Gold had the necessities and until this moment it hadn't bothered him not to have anything more. Now he wondered what business he had bringing Belle into this spartan space. She deserved a palace, not this.

His wife was looking around with interest, her eyes bright. "It's cozy," she pronounced at last, putting a brave face on things, "Did you build it yourself?"

"From the ground up," he replied, looking around to see what he could improve for her. He'd build a bookcase for her, he decided, and a rocking chair so she could read comfortably by the fire on cold nights. His little Belle would like that.

She took another step, catching herself on his shoulder as her legs trembled, shaky from their ride. Gold guided her to the bed and sat her down on it, placing her bag on the floor next to her. Simply looking at her sitting on his bed- _their_ bed- made his pulse race, and he sat down beside her quickly, trying not to think about it. "I'm sorry," Belle apologized, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You've had a long day, and you're not used to being on a horse," he answered her, "Don't apologize. You owe me nothing."

Her eyebrow arched a little at his words, and she reminded him gently, "I'm your _wife_." Whatever point she'd been attempting to make was rather lost to the yawn that followed her words.

He smiled at that, a genuine smile that stretched his face in a way it rarely had. "Yes, you are, my little Belle."

She blushed at the endearment, looking up at him shyly, and Gold could no more have kept himself from kissing her than he could have stopped his heart from beating. Carefully, he slanted his mouth over hers, reminding himself to be gentle with her. Belle was a maiden; she needed patience and care, neither of which were qualities he possessed in abundance.

She sighed softly as he pulled away from her, and he helplessly echoed the sound. He'd never tasted anything as sweet as her lips before, and if he didn't leave now, he'd lose all control. After years of wanting, Belle was his wife, and he didn't trust himself with her. "I'll leave you to sleep," he told her, clearing his throat in an effort to banish the hoarse note from his voice. "You've had a trying day."

Her lips parted in apparent astonishment. No doubt she'd expected him to pounce on her at once, and Gold despised himself for how much he wanted to do just that. While he'd won her hand, he had no claim on her heart and if he rushed this, she'd hate him. Married or not, he needed to take this slowly and court her properly, prove that she hadn't made a mistake in giving herself to him.

Indulging himself, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before rising from the bed. "You need to rest, and I need to care for Imp. I'll see you in the morning. Rest well."

He could feel her eyes on him as he left the cabin, and he tried to stand straighter, more self-conscious about his hated limp than he'd ever been before. "Good night, husband." Her words were soft with a note of sadness in them, and Gold hoped she wasn't regretting her choice already.

Grooming Imp gave him something to do with his hands while his mind kept trying to stray to Belle. No doubt she'd be changing into her chemise and tucking herself into his bed- their bed- _her_ bed, struggling to sleep in a strange place. He closed his eyes at the image, fighting the desire to go and tuck himself in beside her.

He'd go into town tomorrow to get the rest of her things and pay a visit to the General Store. Surely there would be something there that would make her more comfortable. She might appreciate a gift. Maybe if she saw he was trying, she'd be willing to meet him halfway.

Gold made a bed for himself in the straw, withdrawing his feather from his pocket and pressing his lips to it. He'd get her a ring, he decided, a real ring to replace the ridiculous bit of tack that currently encircled her finger, the closest thing to a wedding ring he'd been able to find at such short notice. He'd done everything backwards, and he cursed the selfishness that had led him to claim her immediately instead of waiting until she was ready like a decent man would have. Starting tomorrow, he would begin to make amends.

His sleep that night was fitful as his mind kept straying to Belle, hearing her voice as she made her vows, feeling her soft lips beneath his, seeing her snuggled in his bed where he'd dreamed her for years. Gold rose with the dawn, sneaking into his own cabin like a thief to steal a glimpse of his wife.

Belle was curled on her side, her back against the cabin wall leaving plenty of room on the mattress for him. Gold was halfway across the room before he caught himself. He had to take this slowly, and even if that wasn't a consideration, Belle would be sore from yesterday's ride.

That thought sparked an idea, and as quietly as he could, he set to work heating water and filling the large copper tub for her. A bath would soothe her aching muscles. Belle stirred in her sleep, but she didn't wake until he'd finished his work and sat down on the bed beside her, his hand careful not to stray anywhere but her shoulder. "Belle?"

He watched in wonder, mouth dry, as she stretched unselfconsciously beneath the blankets, her blue eyes slowly blinking open to look up at him as she returned from the depths of sleep. "Good morning," she murmured.

Unable to resist, he ran his knuckles over the side of her face. "I have to go to town, but I thought you might like a bath," he told her, sitting back a little and nodding to the steaming tub, smiling to himself as her eyes lit up, "Is there anything you'd like me to bring back for you?"

Belle shook her head then seemed to reconsider. "If you have a chance, could you see Papa and get my books?"

He'd hoped for a more elaborate request so he could begin to make good on his vow to make her happy, but it was certainly manageable. "Of course." Reluctantly he got off the bed, needing to give her privacy before her water grew too cold for comfort. "Leave the water when you're done; I'll take care of it when I get home."

"When should I expect you, husband?" Gold _had_ to lean over and brush his lips over hers when she called him that. It wasn't even a choice.

"I'll be home for supper. Anything you choose to make will be fine. Otherwise, you may do as you please. Look at anything you like. This is your home now, Belle." He thrilled to the thought as much as the sight of her in the cabin. It was _their_ home now, not just his, and nothing had ever seemed more wondrous.

She nodded her goodbye, and he left her in peace, going to saddle Imp. The bad-tempered horse whickered at him, and Gold was again amazed by how it had reacted to Belle the previous evening. The horse hated everyone in the universe except him, but for her it had been docile as a child's pony. Perhaps it had more in common with its master than just an unpleasant demeanor.

When Gold reached town he was instantly the center of attention as people stared and whispered behind their hands. With a hint of morbid amusement he wondered how many of them assumed he'd already murdered his new bride. He nodded politely to Ruby and Granny Lucas when they passed on the street, surprised when they stopped to speak with him. As a general rule, people didn't. Fortunately they seemed satisfied once he assured them that Belle was well, because he didn't have the faintest idea what else to say. His call on Clary was considerably easier. Threats came more naturally to him than polite conversation, and Gold was satisfied he'd made his point about Moe French.

The doctor was less than pleased to see him, the man already soused to the gills even at the early hour. From his haggard expression, Gold wasn't entirely sure the man had made it to bed at all. Even so, he handed over Belle's books and the rest of her clothing without protest, although Gold was left with the impression the doctor would have rather shot him where he stood.

Obligations complete, Gold set to work on his main reason for visiting town: to buy his wife a gift. The selection of jewelry left something to be desired, but he was pleased with one particular piece: a gold band engraved in an abstract pattern that put him in mind of some kind of magical symbols. It seemed appropriate for his miracle of a wife. He made a few more purchases and placed an order for several things the store didn't generally carry then made his final stop.

During the ride home, Gold was torn between wondering what Belle was doing and hoping she'd like his gift. He had to admit there was something satisfying about using Clary's money to spoil his bride.

He was able to sneak the present into the barn without her seeing it, then he entered the cabin, pausing in the doorway in surprise. "You're back!" Belle beamed, looking up from the pot she was stirring. Gold glanced around the room in disbelief, barely remembering to greet her in turn. He'd only been gone a matter of hours, but Belle had turned the cabin inside-out. Everything was clean and sparkling, the shutters open to let in the spring breeze. She'd picked wildflowers, filling containers he'd forgotten he had with the colorful blooms, and whatever she was cooking smelled delicious. In one day she'd thoroughly put her own stamp on the cabin and made it into something that was _theirs_.

"You've been busy," he managed, noticing that she'd taken care of the copper tub herself instead of waiting for him. Gold wasn't sure why he was surprised.

Belle bit her lip, looking a bit anxious. "You don't mind, do you? You said I could do as I wanted."

He'd rather expected her to explore the cabin or amuse herself with sewing or whatever women did when men weren't around, but if his little Belle wanted to clean, that certainly fell under the heading of 'doing whatever she liked.' "Everything looks wonderful," he reassured her, and she beamed at the praise. Before she could go back to her cooking, he beckoned her closer. "I have something for you," he told her. Actually he had several somethings, but he decided to start with the one he wasn't sure she'd like. Better to get the disappointment out of the way first if she didn't.

Belle followed him willingly outside, giggling a little when he bade her close her eyes. He held her closer than necessary as he guided her into the barn, bringing her to a stop in front of one particular stall. "You can look."

The little mare was a soft gray, her gentle temperament easy to read in her dark eyes. Gold had thought her perfect for his Belle. She'd need a horse if she didn't want to be stranded at the cabin, and the mare was far more her size and speed than Imp. Belle made a soft, delighted noise, holding out her hand for the mare to snuffle and laughing at the warm rush of air over her fingers. "Oh, she's lovely!"

"I thought I could teach you to ride," he explained, as if buying her a horse hadn't made his intentions perfectly clear.

Belle already had both hands on the horse's muzzle, the pair of them looking at each other like they were old friends. At his words, she tore her gaze from the horse and smiled at him, "I'd like that very much." She turned from the horse to embrace him, her arms tight around his neck. "Thank you."

Gold hugged back, allowing himself the luxury of running his hand down the length of her spine to pull her a little closer, delighted to have made her happy. "She'll need a name," he prompted, and Belle pulled back, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she thought about it. That habit of hers was already doing uncomfortable things to his heart.

"Dulcinea," she pronounced at last, and he vaguely recognized the name from the story she'd been reading him during his convalescence. She went back to petting the horse, cooing over its beauty, and Gold was ruefully aware that he was actually jealous of a horse. Had she not been concerned over her dinner burning, he thought Belle might have willingly spent the night in the barn talking to her new friend.

While he would have praised anything she made, the simple root vegetable stew was delicious, and she'd clearly found the overgrown garden. "I want to start on that next," she told him as they sat together after the meal.

"It's a mess," he warned her, "I can't remember the last time I did anything with it."

Belle shrugged. "All the more reason then. A little love will go a long way."

She looked squarely at him when she said that, and Gold tried to stifle the flutter of hope her words provoked. She didn't mean it that way; it was far too soon for her to feel anything more for him than gratitude. Seeking to distract himself, he retrieved the bags he'd brought with him from town. Belle seemed delighted with the pretty blue fabric he'd found for her, thinking she might like a new dress. It had reminded him of the lovely clothes she wore before her father's fall from grace, and he'd thought the blue would match her eyes.

Even so, she seemed most delighted to see her familiar pile of books, and her smile made every moment he'd spent with her father worthwhile. Then she looked again, her brow furrowing as she realized the stack was a bit larger than she expected. "I don't know if I chose right," he admitted, "I'll bring you with me next time so you can pick what you want."

Belle was looking between him and the books, her hands absently caressing their spines. "I... books. New books."

She looked so overwhelmed by the idea, that Gold couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, new books." He leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"_Thank you,_" she breathed, her eyes glistening more than usual.

He shook his head; her obvious pleasure in the gift was more than reward enough. "It's no matter. I do have one more thing for you though."

Belle laughed breathlessly, her voice sounding choked. "You're going to spoil me," she protested.

"Good," he said lightly, pulling the last present from his pocket, "You've been through enough. You deserve to be spoiled."

Her eyes went wide at the sight of the ring in his palm. She traced the gold circlet with her fingertips as though she didn't quite dare touch it. "It's beautiful," she murmured, and she didn't really look like she was crying, but tears were still spilling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb, breath catching when she leaned into his touch.

"Here," he said hoarsely, taking her left hand and withdrawing the bit of tack before sliding the golden band home. Holding onto her hand, he simply admired it for a moment. "Much better."

He moved to slip the bit into his pocket and replace it on Imp's bridle, but Belle caught his wrist. "No!" Her impassioned tone made him freeze, and she plucked the bridle ring out of his hand and closed it protectively in her fist.

"You gave me this at our wedding," she explained, her expression torn between determination and shyness, "Can't I keep it?"

"As you wish." He couldn't quite understand why the bit of metal was so important to her, but if his Belle wished to keep it, then keep it she would. Before he knew what was happening, Belle was in his lap, her face pressed against his neck. "Thank you so much!" she gasped, hugging him closer. Gold was already clinging to her like he was afraid someone was going to try to take her away from him, and when she did that, he nearly crushed her against him, her body flush against his. Belle's breath left her in a whoosh at his rough handling, but she giggled instead of complaining, looking up at him with eyes that shone, and he couldn't take it anymore.

With a groan, he ducked his head and captured her lips, trying to keep it sweet and soft and gentle. That resolve lasted a matter of seconds, then Belle opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, and he was lost. He slid his tongue into her mouth, running it along the velvety surface of hers, her gasp muffled against his lips. Her lips were sweet, but her mouth was a dark cavern of wonders, and he knew he'd never get enough of her. He wanted to taste every inch of her, unlock every mystery, learn her flavor better than he knew his own name.

Belle clutched at his shoulders as he explored her mouth, trying to taste every wondrous bit of her before he realized he had to let her breathe. Tearing himself away from her lips felt like losing a limb, and he buried his face against her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her delicate skin. When he reached the place where her neck met her shoulder, the place he'd dreamed of kissing for so many years, he lost all control. He sucked her flesh into his mouth before biting down with blunt teeth. He wanted to see his mark on her, to _claim_ her, and only Belle's muffled sob stopped him from throwing her to the floor and having his way with her without another moment's delay.

But Belle _did_ sob, and it had the same impact as being doused with cold water. Gold released her, his eyes straying guiltily to the bite mark before he dared look into her face. Her eyes were dark and dazed, her lips trembling. He'd frightened her. Things had been going so well, then he'd lost control, and he'd frightened his wife. He'd vowed to be gentle and patient, and in less than twenty-four hours, he was mauling her like an animal.

He was a fucking _monster_.

He stood and deposited her on her feet, smoothing her dress with careful hands. It was too late now; the damage was done. He glanced at the mark again, wanting only to kiss it better, and the wave of lust that washed over him at the sight nearly brought him to his knees. The lovebite on Belle's pale skin marked her as his even more than the ring she wore did, and the bestial part of him _liked_ it.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, wishing there were words that would turn back the clock and make the last ten minutes not have happened so that he would still have her trust. There was no way to explain his actions that wouldn't frighten her a thousand times worse. "I'll... leave you to sleep."

Gold staggered out of the cabin, his limp even more pronounced than usual. Even now, despite everything, he was so hard he couldn't stand up straight, and that just reinforced what a sick bastard he was. He'd hurt his little Belle, frightened her, and all he could think about was throwing her down on the bed and going back to exactly what they'd been doing before.

The barn was silent and dark, and he collapsed onto the straw with a hollow groan, already reaching for the fastenings of his trousers. Even as he took himself in hand Gold cursed himself for his lack of restraint. His strokes were fast and rough, fueled by desperation and the memory of Belle's body in his lap and her mouth against his. With a low cry he finished, bringing himself off to the memory of forcing himself on his wife.

Her father had been right to warn her off him. In that moment, Gold only wished she had listened.


	6. Chapter 6

Belle stared blankly after her husband as he fled the cabin like she'd attacked him and wondered what on earth had happened. He'd been so kind and thoughtful over the first day of their marriage that she'd felt like she was walking on air. True, he'd surprised her the previous night when he didn't share her bed, but she'd thought he was doing what Granny had indicated to her that he should: going slowly; she _had _been tired and sore. Then he'd prepared a bath for her and complimented the work she'd done on the cabin and bought her such lovely things in town that she'd been overwhelmed by his generosity. Perhaps she shouldn't have thrown herself into his lap, but she'd just wanted to thank him, and he hadn't seemed to mind.

She blushed as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her throat just like she'd been daydreaming about for months, warm and prickly with stubble and a little wild. A rush of heat went through her, coalescing almost uncomfortably between her legs, and she realized she was running her fingers over the place he'd bitten. Feeling silly, she retrieved her hand mirror to look, and there on her neck was a red mark that was a perfect twin of the one she'd laughed at Ruby for having. If she'd had any idea how wonderful it felt, she would have kept her laughs to herself.

It had felt so _good_ to have him suckling at her neck, his teeth worrying her skin that she hadn't been able to bite back the truly ridiculous noise she'd made. Granny had said men liked their women to make noise, but her husband was clearly the exception to that rule because he hadn't been able to get away from her fast enough. Had she perhaps done it wrong?

Troubled, Belle prepared for bed, knowing her husband would once again not be joining her. She hadn't meant to displease him, not when he was being so good to her. Snuggling into the pillows that still carried his scent, she tried to think logically. She'd never been a wife before, so she was certain to make mistakes. The important thing was to learn from them. She'd been forward, and he hadn't liked it. Starting tomorrow, she would offer him her quiet compliance and hope things would improve.

Breakfast was a simple meal of porridge and tea, but Mr. Gold praised her like she'd served a feast. As a bachelor, he was no doubt used to doing for himself, and Belle was relieved he was so easy to please when it came to cooking. Even so, she'd seen fruit bushes in the overgrown garden, and she looked forward to coaxing them into bloom. Blackberries would be delicious with porridge.

Mr. Gold sat at the table with her as she lingered over her tea, enjoying these quiet moments with her husband. Whatever had been wrong the previous night seemed to have sorted itself out, and he watched her with a soft expression, as though he couldn't quite believe she was real. It helped to know that she wasn't the only one overwhelmed by all of this. "What's your Christian name?" Belle asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her husband blinked at her in surprise, and she continued, "We've been married two days, and I still don't know your given name." She was a little embarrassed by how long it had taken her to ask. He'd been Mr. Gold to her for so long that to call him anything else felt wrong, yet she couldn't call her husband by his surname.

"Anthony," he said after a moment, the name sounding slightly forced, "No one's called me that in years."

Belle wasn't sure what to make of his tone, "Should I keep calling you Mr. Gold?" she suggested, wondering if that would please him better. She was somewhat relieved when he shook his head.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he actually smiled a little at that, and Belle liked the way it made his eyes crinkle. "You may call me anything you please."

When he called her his little Belle it made her stomach flutter, but she couldn't imagine using a similar endearment with him. Maybe once they knew each other better it would feel more natural. "Would you like to start your riding lessons today?" he asked.

"Oh yes!" she exclaimed, delighted at the thought. Her ride on Imp had given her confidence, and Dulcinea was the most beautiful horse she'd ever seen, although she knew she was biased by the fact the mare had been her first gift from her husband.

He smiled again at her eagerness, telling her to meet him in the barn when she was ready. Belle quickly cleaned up the breakfast things and pulled her hair back in a plait, looking down at her dress in concern. She'd be showing her legs again, even sitting sidesaddle. It was immodest, but the only person there to see her was her husband, and he was entitled to the sight. Even so, the idea of it made her blush. Perhaps next time she was in town she could find a pattern for a split skirt and some durable fabric with which to make herself a riding outfit. The gorgeous blue he'd bought her was far too fine to ride in.

Dismissing any lingering concerns, Belle found herself a leather cord and slipped her original wedding ring onto it, tying it off to make herself a necklace. The bridle ring rested snugly between her breasts as she tucked it down the front of her dress, and its cool weight comforted her. Then she went to meet her husband in the barn.

She was somewhat taken aback when he showed her the saddle he'd bought for her. Belle had assumed he'd be teaching her to ride sidesaddle like a proper lady, but Dulcinea's saddle was traditional. "You have to spend too much attention on balancing when you ride sidesaddle," he informed her, "If you're ever in danger, I want you to be able to ride without worrying about breaking your neck. This way is more practical."

She could see his point, although she couldn't imagine what would ever endanger her. She was married to the most feared man in Storybrooke. No one could touch her. "I'll teach you to shoot as well," he muttered as he showed her how to fit the saddle to Dulcinea, the little mare showing tremendous patience with Belle's fumbling.

Once he was satisfied with her ability to saddle the horse, he cupped his hands for her to step into so he could boost her into the saddle. Belle yelped as he tossed her up and she landed astride the horse more quickly than she'd intended to. "Sorry, I-" he started, then broke off, clearing his throat and turning half away from her as he got an eyeful of bare thigh. Blushing, Belle tugged her skirt down as much as she could, although she was still showing plenty of leg. She fought the inappropriate urge to giggle when she suddenly flashed back to the day he'd had his fever; she'd gotten quite an eyeful of him too. They were even now.

"I'm decent," she said softly, and he turned back to her, carefully not meeting her eyes. Instead he looked critically at her posture, quietly correcting her form.

"Sit forward just a little more. Shoulders back." He nodded, pleased with her progress, "That's very good. Ready?"

Belle took a deep breath and nodded. "Dig your heels into her sides. Not too hard, but don't worry about hurting her; you won't." She did as he commanded, starting when Dulcinea obediently stepped forward. It felt awkward at first, but she remembered how her husband had showed her how to move with Imp, and Dulcinea's gait was considerably smoother. After a few minutes, she felt like she'd mastered the rhythm and risked looking away from the mare's ears down at her husband who was keeping pace with the horse, his hand hovering near Dulcinea's bridle like he was expecting her to bolt.

They made a few circuits around the cabin, Belle accustoming herself to using the reins, although she still told the mare verbally what she wanted her to do as she applied pressure on the correct side. Although they weren't exactly moving quickly, Belle still felt a thrill that this graceful beast was hers to command.

All too soon, he indicated it was time to stop for the day, and Belle couldn't resist the pout of displeasure. He chuckled at her. "Remember how you felt the other night? We'll go slowly, a little more each day." She guided the horse back to the barn, musing over his words that seemed to apply to their marriage as much as her riding lessons. Maybe going slowly and getting to know each other wasn't a bad idea.

She swung her leg over the mare's back, and her husband placed his hands on her waist to lift her down as she braced her hands on his shoulders. A rush of heat filled her as she slid down his body before landing lightly on her own two feet, but she didn't miss his slight wince. Not for the first time, she wondered how he'd hurt his leg and if it was bothering him now, but she didn't quite have the nerve to ask. There would be time for that later.

Although he offered to groom Dulcinea for her, Belle wasn't yet ready to say goodbye to her newest friend, and he instead showed her how to do it herself, his hand covering hers on the brush as he demonstrated the correct strokes to use to leave her glossy with health. His chest was pressed against her back, and the temptation to lift her face and kiss his jaw was almost unbearable, but Belle restrained herself, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. If she wanted to make him happy, she had to be patient and let him come to her. Instead she saved her affection for the horses, patting both Dulcinea and Imp goodbye once they'd finished.

Retreating to the house afterward to prepare their noon meal, she had to stop and lean against the door as she relived the feeling of his body pressed against hers. It was a casual touch, one he probably didn't even really notice, but the thought that a lifetime of such touches lay ahead of her was enough to bring happy tears to Belle's eyes.

Sighing, she forced herself back to reality, knowing she had duties to perform. Taking stock of their food stores, Belle started a list of things she'd need to buy or do. They certainly wouldn't starve but meals would be repetitive until she did some baking and had the garden in functional order. While she could buy fruits and vegetables at the market, she wasn't sure she could justify the expense when they had perfectly serviceable land that just needed some work.

Although her husband didn't complain that the stew she prepared was a near-copy of what she'd fed him the previous night, Belle was more determined than ever to start on the garden. Retrieving the hoe and shovel she'd seen in the barn, she selected one corner at random and started uprooting the weeds that were choking out the other plants.

It was hot, dirty work, but she could see progress was already being made which bolstered her spirits. She hummed to herself, a rather filthy ditty that Ruby had taught her and that she'd had stuck in her head ever since. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband dragging wood into the house, and she could hear the sounds of hammering and occasional muffled cursing in counterpoint to her own song.

When she deemed she'd decimated enough weeds for one day, she washed her hands and face at the pump, relishing the feel of the cool water even as it stung the cuts the weeds had made to her hands, and returned to the house to see her husband standing by the corner nearest the fireplace. At the sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor, he turned and stepped aside, letting her see how he'd been spending his afternoon. A trio of bookshelves greeted her eyes, sanded smooth and already holding her library. "I thought you might like a place to put them," he said diffidently, and Belle's heart leapt into her throat at the gift. Not only did her husband not mind that she read, he was encouraging her to do so with gestures like this.

"Thank you; they're wonderful," she managed, twisting her hands together to keep herself from reaching to embrace him. The action knocked open some of the scratches she'd gotten from her weeding, and she hissed in pain.

Before she could hide her hands behind her back, her husband was before her, catching her wrists in careful hands so he could examine the damage she'd done to herself, his mouth tight with anger. "It won't be so bad once I get used to it," Belle assured, him but he didn't noticeably relax.

He sat her down at the table and retrieved a glass bottle and some strips of cloth from a cupboard, then pulled his own chair over so he could sit facing her. Taking her hands in his, he carefully swabbed each wound with lavender oil and wrapped her hands carefully in the linen bandages. He held her hands in his lap for a moment before lifting them to his mouth, kissing the back of each in turn. "I should have helped you today," he said quietly, sounding almost guilty.

"You were busy," Belle argued, smiling at his careful treatment, "And if you would have, I wouldn't have bookshelves right now."

A faint smile crossed his face at that. "I'll do it from now on," he assured her.

"Why don't we do it together?" she suggested, laughing a little when he looked down at her bandaged hands and raised his eyebrow, "After my hands heal."

He accepted her offer and kissed her cheek, waving her back into her seat when she would have gone to work on their supper. Instead he placed one of her new books in her hands and prepared the meal himself, cooking up a rabbit he'd snared earlier that day with some corn mash. It was simple but tasty, and she was impressed by his abilities. Belle was reasonably sure her father didn't even know where they kept the tea.

The thought of her father worried her, and she tried to hide her frown. It had been over a week since he tried to give her to George, and she'd barely spoken to him since. A rush of anger and sorrow filled her at the memory. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, but he'd been so _so_ wrong. He'd driven her from her own home and forced her husband to gamble for her like she was a piece of property; it was hard not to hate him for that. At the same time, he'd been trying to protect her, and she couldn't fault his motivation.

Mr. Gold- Anthony, she had to start thinking of him like that- was watching her closely, and she tried to smile. Part of her wanted to tell him what she was thinking, but he'd made his feelings about her father quite clear. There was no love lost between her husband and her father although he'd vowed to protect him anyway. Swallowing her discontent at the idea there would never be any happy Sunday family dinners for the three of them, she struggled to find a way to distract herself. "Shall I read to you? We never finished _Don Quixote_."

For a moment she thought he wouldn't respond, then he murmured, "I'd like that." Feeling better already, Belle retrieved the book, stroking her hand lovingly across the shelves he'd built for her, and they moved to sit together on the cabin's front steps as he found a long piece of wood and busied his hands carving it into a smooth curve.

"What's that going to be?" she stopped reading long enough to ask, giggling as he flicked her nose with one finger in punishment for her curiosity.

"A surprise" was all he'd tell her, and she leaned against him happily, immediately going back to her previous position when he tensed. For a moment she'd forgotten, and she hoped he wouldn't be put off. He didn't leave though, just kept carving, and Belle went back to the book, reading until the sun went down and it grew too dark to see the words.

Placing her embroidered bookmark, she put the novel aside, and they sat in companionable silence, listening to the crickets. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, to feel his arms around her, but instead of heeding her unspoken request, he rose. "I'll say good night then," he said a bit awkwardly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead.

Belle forced a smile, realizing she'd be sleeping alone again. "Good night."

'_We'll go slowly, a little more each day_.' That was what he'd said about the riding, but the same words clearly didn't apply to their relationship. If anything, they were going backwards. He hadn't kissed her mouth once that day. Indeed, he'd barely touched her at all.

With a sigh she crawled into bed, wishing she understood what was happening. Based on everything she'd read and everything she'd heard, he should have made her his by now. If he'd married her, he must care for her. Did he simply not desire her?

The thought hurt, but Belle refused to allow herself to cry. They'd only been married two days, and her husband was a real person, not a character in a tale. His actions must have a reason. He was good to her; she just had to trust him and believe that things would work out in the end.

As the days passed, it grew harder to keep her resolve. They found a routine that worked for them: riding lessons in the mornings, gardening in the afternoons, and they were getting more comfortable with each other. Belle finally felt like she could read his moods, and he seemed to smile more around her. They talked more now, about nothing in particular, and although his past was still a mystery to her, Belle was coming to know her husband at last. He spent most of his time with her, seemed to like having her there, and treated her with more kindness than anyone would ever have believed Mr. Gold capable of. He was a _good_ man.

Her heart broke a little each night when he left her to sleep in the barn. She could accept that he didn't love her yet. They'd barely known each other when they got married, and her having feelings for him didn't guarantee reciprocation. Still, she'd been certain that he would come to love her in time. She tried to be a good wife, and he seemed pleased with her. He just wouldn't touch her. Could a man learn to love a woman he didn't want? Belle thought it unlikely.

Still, she wasn't unhappy. Granny had said that when men were happy they'd do almost anything for their women, and her husband was certainly proving just that. He'd even agreed to go to church with her the following Sunday morning. She'd come far enough in her riding lessons to handle the six miles with relative ease, although she dismounted near the edge of town because her clothes were still completely inappropriate for the task. She no longer minded having him see her legs, but she wasn't about to give anyone else a show.

She took a place in her normal pew in the little church, and he sat down beside her, looking vaguely like he expected to be smote with a lightning bolt at any moment. Every eye in the church was on them, and Belle sat straight and kept a soft smile on her face, letting everyone see just how content she was with her choice. The last time she'd been there was when they made their vows, and that memory kept her smile fresh through Pastor Hopper's entire sermon.

Neither George nor her father was present, but Granny and Ruby cornered them just outside the church after the service, inviting them for Sunday dinner. When she looked to her husband, he gestured to her to make the decision, and Belle happily accepted.

The four of them plus Pastor Hopper made a cozy group, and Belle enjoyed seeing her friends again even though she didn't have a chance to speak to either Granny or Ruby privately. She would have dearly loved to get Granny's opinion on her husband's lack of action. The older woman would certainly have a better idea of what was motivating him than Belle herself. She wanted to talk to Ruby for a far more frivolous reason. Watching her friend at dinner, she was almost certain she and Pastor Hopper had been holding hands beneath the table.

When she shared this observation with her husband on their ride home, he snorted. "It's about time. He's been eyeing her for months."

"He's shy!" Belle defended the pastor.

"He's immobile," he shot back, "Ruby's not subtle. He had to know he'd be welcome."

Uncharitably, Belle wondered what his own excuse was, then quashed the thought. To think of her husband as being as insecure as poor Pastor Hopper was laughable. Whatever his reasons for not touching her, they were his own. A little push couldn't hurt though, and she thought back on Ruby's tactics. She was starting to make up the fine blue linen he'd bought her into a dress; perhaps she could make the neckline a little deeper than she normally wore.

They'd discussed going back into town on Thursday to pick up supplies and so Belle could have a proper visit with Ruby. She sat up late Wednesday night finishing the dress, blushing a little at how snug the bodice was. Compared to Ruby's clothes it was positively demure, but the square neckline did reveal the upper swell of her small breasts, and she dared to hope her husband would take one look at her and find he desired her after all.

She dressed carefully the following morning, arranging her curls so they lay smoothly and biting her lips to bring extra color into them, using every trick she'd gleaned from her friend. Overall, she was quite pleased with the result. The blue of the dress was a near-perfect match for her eyes, making them look luminous in her flushed face. If he didn't kiss her now, he never would.

Humming to herself, she left the cabin and joined him in the barn, pausing in the doorway to admire her husband's lean figure as he adjusted Dulcinea's saddle for her. Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up, and Belle caught the material of her skirt in each hand, holding it out away from her so he could see her handiwork more clearly. "Very pretty," he told her, his voice oddly flat. Although Belle fancied that she was getting better at reading his moods, his expression now was completely inscrutable.

Hoping for the best, she twirled, letting him see all of it, then stepped closer, not quite touching him, but not stopping until she could feel his heat. "You like it?" she asked breathlessly, tilting her face up in shameless invitation for his kiss.

He leaned a little closer, and she was _certain_ he would kiss her at last, but he changed direction at the last second and chastely kissed her cheek instead. "Very much. You do good work." Without another word, he boosted her onto Dulcinea's back, and Belle wasn't sure which she wanted to do more: cry or slap him.

They made the trip into town in silence, and even the shopping Belle had been looking forward to had lost most of its charm. She succeeded in finding material and a pattern for a riding outfit, but she didn't even bother looking at the lace she'd originally intended to purchase to trim her new dress. There seemed little point now. They took lunch together at the hotel, and although the food was fancier than anything Belle had seen since her father developed his problem, she could taste little of it. She had proof now that her husband had married her purely out of duty, and she wasn't yet able to be philosophical about having her hopes crushed. In time she'd regain her perspective and find a way to endure, but for now the wound was too fresh.

Mr. Gold- there was no point in struggling to call him Anthony now- watched her warily, saying little. After lunch he led her directly to the corner of the general store that stocked books, telling her a little desperately to pick out anything she'd like. The freedom to purchase whichever book she liked best did wonders to improve Belle's mood, which lifted further when he picked up the stack of five books she'd selected on her first pass- meaning to narrow them down to single choice- and simply bought them all. He _did_ care about her. He _did_ treat her well. He just didn't love her. She would have to learn to be contented with what she had instead of wishing for the moon.

She watched as he paid for her books and kissed his cheek in thanks, trying not to notice the way he tensed at her action. Belle had always been a tactile person, and she was no longer willing to forego the comfort of touch. He would simply have to get used to it and accept her shows of affection. Maybe one day he'd even feel moved to return them.

By that time, it was mid-afternoon, and Belle had meant to visit her father, but she was feeling too fragile to manage it. Instead she mentally shelved that idea until the following week, and Mr. Gold escorted her to Granny's house, promising to meet her in the saloon later that night which gave the women a chance to speak privately. Ruby nearly dragged her into the kitchen and shoved a cup of tea into her hand as she and Granny sat down with her at the table, expectant eyes on her. "So did my eyes deceive me on Sunday, or is Pastor Hopper finally courting you?"

As expected, her question set Ruby off on a flurry of giggles and stories and explanations which all came down to one fact: the Monday after Belle's wedding Pastor Hopper had indeed come to Granny for permission to court Ruby, and the shy man had been in near-constant attendance since. Belle was genuinely delighted for her friend. She'd never seen Ruby look so happy or blush so much over a simple peck on the cheek.

She was aware of Granny watching her intently as Ruby told her story, and when her friend had finally run out of ways to gush over her beau, the older woman observed, "And do my eyes deceive _me_, or is this the face of an unhappy bride?"

Ruby froze, looking at Belle with wide, distressed eyes, and Belle shook her head, trying to find the right words to explain what was happening. Granny patted her hand, and she nearly wailed, "He won't touch me!"

The other two women edged closer as Belle blurted out the entire story- from her surprise at being left alone on her wedding night, to his kindness and her unwelcome boldness, and the way he'd kissed her and left her, not to kiss her again. "He's _good_ to me," she said fiercely when she'd poured it all out, "He's generous and kind, but he doesn't want me, and it's killing me."

She buried her face in her hands, struggling for composure as Ruby wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Then he's crazy," Granny told her firmly, "You're a beautiful young woman, and any man who doesn't want you is a fool."

The words did little to comfort her. The only man she wanted didn't want her, and she didn't much care why not. All she knew was that it hurt to not be desired by her husband. "I don't know about this," Granny mused, "The way that man looks at you..."

"I might know something," Ruby said reluctantly, sitting back in her chair and avoiding Belle's eyes. "George still comes to the saloon, and he's been... talking."

She quailed a little at Belle and Granny's searching looks, swallowing hard. "I didn't believe it. I thought he was just shooting his mouth off since Gold took you away from him."

"What did he say, Ruby?" Belle pressed.

Her friend looked miserable. "That Gold spends a lot of time at the cathouse. That he has a special girl."

"That's not-" Granny began, but Belle overrode her.

"That's probably who he thought I was the night he kissed me by mistake. That's why he doesn't want me." To her surprise, a flicker of anger was starting to grow inside of her. It was one thing not to want her, but to be unfaithful? Wedding vows were supposed to _mean_ something. Was that where he was now as she visited with her friends?

Feeling strangely calm, Belle rose from the table, noting with some surprise that the sun had already gone down. If she wanted to catch him, she'd have to move quickly. "What are you going to do?" Ruby asked.

"I'm going to find my husband," she replied. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with him after that, but finding him was definitely the first step.

"I'll go with you," Ruby said quickly, looking to Granny for permission, and the older woman waved them both off on their way.

Grinding her teeth, Belle led the way toward the house on the outskirts of town that every decent woman pretended didn't exist. She wanted to see this other woman, see what the prostitute had that Belle herself didn't. After that she didn't know what she'd do, but she could guarantee that it wouldn't be ladylike.

0 0 0 0 0

Having Belle with him was both far better and far worse than he'd ever imagined it could be, Gold reflected as he stared sightlessly up at the barn's ceiling that Wednesday night. Spending time with her- being allowed to look at her and talk to her whenever he desired- was sheer bliss. However looking at her led to him wanting to touch her, and no good could come from him doing that. He'd proven that the second day of their marriage when he'd bitten her and frightened her. Since then he'd kept his hands strictly to himself, and he could only assume she was pleased about it. She'd married him out of gratitude and wanted nothing from him but his protection. If Belle was generous enough to give him her smiles and her company, Gold didn't dare ask for anything more. What he had was so much more than he'd ever expected.

He told himself to be thankful for what he had, and to an extent he was. Being able to call Belle his wife was far more than he deserved, but he could never be content with her company alone, not when he knew what her lips tasted like and how soft her curves were when she was in his arms. He was a greedy man when it came to her, and he wanted _all_ of her, even- especially- the parts of her she didn't wish to give him.

If he could only trust himself, it might have been different. If he could kiss her gently every once in awhile or put his arms around her without his hands straying to places she didn't want them, he might have been able to slowly win her over to the idea of sharing herself with him. A decent man could have done just that: courted her patiently and won her trust. Gold wasn't a decent man though; he was a beast wrapped in a man's hide, and simply touching Belle's arm made him burn for her. Any gentle touch wouldn't remain so for long, and the next time he might not be able to stop himself.

Such a scene was painfully easy to imagine. He'd lift her off Dulcinea after one of her riding lessons but keep his arms around her, not letting her go. She'd struggle playfully and giggle, thinking he was teasing her, and he'd bend down and kiss her, claiming her mouth for his own. He'd have the best of intentions; he'd try to please her, but the moment she parted her lips for him, he would be lost. He'd attack her mouth until she was faint from the lack of air, paw at her, pin her against a wall or drag her to the floor with him and not stop until he was buried inside of her, forcing himself on her like an animal. He'd hurt her, leave her crying and broken from his rough handling, and Gold would _die_ before he let that happen. Far better that he not touch her at all.

It would be easier if just being in the same room with her wasn't so intoxicating. If she was any other woman he could bear it with ease, but she was Belle who he'd longed for for nearly a decade, and just being in her company left him aching.

Gold wondered if his hungry staring made her uncomfortable, if she would prefer it if he didn't spend the majority of each day at her side, but he was only a man, and he wasn't strong enough to deny himself everything. If he couldn't be near her, he'd go mad. He needed her the way a plant needed the sun; without her light, he'd wither and die. It was just so hard to remember he wasn't allowed to touch.

He scarcely slept anymore, the thought of her resting peacefully so near more than he could handle. So many nights he'd been tempted to slip into the cabin and just sit on the edge of the bed to watch her sleep, but that would come far too close to his fantasies. He'd never be able to keep his hands to himself if he risked that. Instead he sat up late working on her rocking chair, pleased he'd been able to keep it a secret from her for so long. He'd never taken such care with a piece of furniture before, but he was channeling everything he felt into its construction, carving the back and arms with roses. Belle would like to have a comfortable spot to read. He finally fell asleep with his carving knife still in his hand.

The following morning he was readying the horses for their trip to town when he felt the air in the barn change, telling him that Belle had joined him. He glanced up at her, his mouth drying as he took in what she was wearing. The material he'd chosen was a perfect match for her eyes which were shining at him as she smiled and twirled, her full skirt tangling about her legs as she stumbled to a halt. She leaned forward a little to catch her balance, and Gold's eyes strayed inexorably to the neckline of her dress, lower than her usual wont. Above her bodice he could just see the upper swell of her perfect breasts- pale and soft and begging for his kisses. "Very pretty," he managed, his throat aching from the effort of saying even that much. His fingers twitched, itching to touch her, to see if the fabric was as smooth as it looked, if she was as soft and sweet and wonderful to touch as he'd always dreamed she'd be.

Belle smiled brighter at the compliment, coming closer, and Gold was torn between grabbing his wife and kissing her senseless and leaping on Imp and riding for his life. He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking as Belle stopped only inches in front of them, her face upturned. "You like it?" she asked breathlessly, and he was so busy watching her lips form the words that he almost forgot to answer. Muttering something that he hoped related to the topic at hand, he helplessly leaned closer, wanting to seize her lips more than he wanted to draw another breath.

Only at the last second did he regain enough sanity to kiss her cheek instead of her lips, and even that slight contact left him trembling. She was _destroying_ him. When he pulled back to help her mount Dulcinea, the look in her eyes almost undid him. Her lips curved in a smile, but Gold was willing to swear that she looked disappointed.

He shook his head to clear it, mounting Imp and leading their way to Storybrooke. Belle let herself drop a few paces behind, obviously not wanting to talk and for that he was grateful. He needed a moment to process this unforeseen event.

She couldn't have actually _wanted_ him to kiss her, of that much he was certain. _'She doesn't love you. She doesn't want you. She'll _never_ want you._' The words were a well-worn mantra, repeated regularly for years. Belle would never love him the way he loved her; he'd accepted that years ago. Over the past week, he'd allowed himself to believe she was learning to care for him a little though. That was her nature: Belle was a caring person, and his was the only face she saw on a daily basis. She'd probably grow to care about him for that reason alone.

The thought didn't elate him as much as he thought it would. He didn't deserve her affection, much as he longed for it. Anything she thought she felt for him wasn't real. Any headway he'd made with her had been made under false pretenses. Belle knew him better than anyone in Storybrooke, but she had no idea of the things he'd done, how dark his soul really was. She'd take off running and never look back if she did, and he wouldn't be able to blame her for it. He didn't deserve to be married to her. He didn't even deserve to be in the same _town_ as her. Yet by some miracle Belle was his wife, and she'd looked disappointed when he didn't kiss her, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

They were nearing Storybrooke by this time, and he drew up short at the edge of town, dismounting to help Belle off her horse, careful not to touch her too much. He was fervently glad she insisted on walking the rest of the way, because delightful as it was to see his Belle astride Dulcinea with her skirts bunched up and her lovely legs on display, if any other man saw her like that, Gold would be forced to shoot him. Teaching her to ride sidesaddle would no doubt have been more modest, but Gold wasn't about to risk her safety for the sake of allaying his jealousy. If Belle ever needed to ride, he wanted her to be able to _ride_.

They walked the horses up the town's dusty main street, Dulcinea clip-clopping along as obediently as an overgrown puppy on a lead and Imp continually attempting to shoulder closer to her, as taken with the mare as his master was with her mistress. What an odd little family they made.

As they passed the schoolyard, the sound of children at play reached his ears A genuine smile lit Belle's face as she turned to watch the little ones, and her earlier disappointment immediately made much more sense. It wasn't really his kiss that she had wanted but what the kiss represented. By refusing to touch her, he was denying her children, and all women wanted children.

The mere thought of Belle being with child made him queasy. He'd rather never lay a hand on her again than risk her that way. If she wanted a child, they could take in a foundling or an orphan. He'd buy her a baby if he had to. Anything was better than the alternative.

Belle was strangely quiet as they ran their errands in town, and she didn't say much during lunch either. Gold had hoped the nice meal would please her, but her smile never reached her eyes. Truly concerned now that he'd done something worse than he'd realized, he all but marched her to the collection of books the general store had for sale and heaved a mental sigh of relief when her mood seemed to improve.

Leaning against the wall, he watched her examine the selection, running her fingers over their spines in a tender caress that had Gold wishing _he_ was a book. His throat grew dry and he swallowed hard at the thought of her running her fingers over him like that, a gentle, inquisitive touch as if she could master the volume's contents with just her fingertips. So intent was she on the books, he was willing to bet she didn't even realize he was staring at her, his eyes devouring her, taking in her look of quiet concentration. He'd give _anything_ to be the focus of her intense gaze.

He could have watched her for hours as she communed with the books, ruffling their pages with careful fingers and bringing them to her face to smell the ink. Gold had never seen anything so innocently erotic in all his life, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to will his body into submission as Belle's eyes slid shut in delight, all but rubbing her cheek against the leather cover- catlike, sensual, and _maddening_.

His breath came raggedly, the air seeming to vanish from the store leaving him feeling warm and out-of-sorts. They were alone in their little corner of the store, and the urge to push her up against the bookshelves and nuzzle her the same way she petted the books was nearly unbearable. His entire body ached with the need to be pressed against her until not a bit of space was left between them. Reaching down, he adjusted himself as subtly as possible, relieved that Belle was too lost in her books to notice the state he was in.

Belle had placed five books to the side, and she turned her attention away from the shelves to concentrate on them, seemingly preparing to go through the entire process again. Reasonably sure that he'd spontaneously combust if she did, Gold plucked the books from her hands and carried them to the cash register, Belle trailing after him in surprise.

The routine of paying for his purchases gave him a moment to catch his breath and try to calm his shaking hands and treacherous body in the hope of being able to actually speak to his wife without pouncing on her. By the time they walked out onto the sunny street, he'd very nearly succeeded, only to have all his efforts prove to be in vain as Belle pressed her lips to his cheek and whispered, "Thank you."

He nearly bit his tongue in half as he fought to stifle his groan, wanting nothing more than to drag her back to their quiet corner and prove to her that _he_ was far more interesting than any book she might select. Instead, he struggled for control and settled for holding her a little more closely to him than was strictly necessary as he escorted her to Granny's house for her visit.

"I'll come collect you at the saloon later tonight?" he suggested, not wanting her to have to rush. Belle nodded cheerfully, sending him on his way with a wave, and Gold was left on the street, missing her already.

He had a few tasks of his own to complete, starting with purchasing cushions for her rocking chair. He was nearly finished with it, and he'd be able to present it to her in the next day or two. She'd be much more comfortable than she was sitting on their hard kitchen chairs. Still, he hoped she'd still be willing to sit on the steps and read to him in the dying daylight. He was particularly fond of that part of their routine.

Soon enough he was finished with his errands and left at loose ends, trying to remember how he'd amused himself in Storybrooke before he'd had Belle. As he recalled, he'd generally planted himself places he thought she might be and hoped for the best. Unfortunately, at the moment he knew exactly where she was, and the ladies would probably notice his presence in Granny's sitting room.

He found a wall to lean against and held it up as he watched the world go by, most of it giving him a wide berth although he did attract some poorly-hidden stares. His wife of nearly two weeks was still alive and well, and he'd been seen in a church. The denizens of Storybrooke probably thought Armageddon was upon them. He smirked at the thought, letting his eyes drift half-closed as he thought about Belle, envisioning the way her dress hugged her curves like a lover, the soft fabric begging for his touch, and the rush of lust that flooded him at the thought of putting his hands on her nearly stopped his heart.

He brushed his fingers over the feather tucked carefully in his breast pocket, reminding himself of his resolve not to touch her. Grimly, he wondered how long that resolve would last. He would be spending the rest of his life with Belle, and even if he spent every night in the barn, sooner or later he was going to slip. Based on what had happened earlier in the store, Gold was fairly sure it was going to be sooner. He'd lose control and hurt his little Belle.

An idea presented itself after a moment, and the guilt that followed it was numbing. He wanted Belle so desperately that he was nearly wild with it. A few more days of the sweet torture of her company would leave him completely feral. He'd attack her like an animal. He'd _hurt_ her. It was inevitable if he didn't do something to take the edge off.

He'd taken vows and _meant_ every one from the bottom of his heart. He'd promised himself to Belle. But Belle didn't want him, and even if she did he wasn't safe for her. He couldn't give her the gentleness she deserved. Brute that he was, all he was fit for was rough coupling with whores, not tender lovemaking with his precious wife.

His feet followed a well-known path, leading him to the cathouse. This was wrong. He was _wrong_ to be unfaithful to Belle. He went in anyway.

His usual girl stood at the sight of him from where she'd been lounging on the floor, her eyes bright with ill-concealed surprise. She smirked as he jerked his head at the staircase, and she led him to their usual room, not fetching the white gown she always wore for him. "Didn't think I'd see you here again," she said, her smile widening into something that looked like happiness, "Isn't your wife living up to expectations?"

There was a mocking note in her voice, and Gold was seized with the urge to strike her for it. _She_ was the cheap copy in this trinity not Belle, _never_ Belle. He needed her to slake his appetites so he could go home to his wife and sit in the same room with her without forcing himself on her. She was a body. Belle was _everything_.

"I don't pay you to talk," he growled, and she lowered her head in submission, "Get changed."

She did as commanded, and he stared blindly at the pockmarked wall as she did, not wanting to see the transformation. He needed her to be Belle; that was _all_ he wanted to see.

Once finished, she stood with her back to him and asked in a low voice, "Where do you want me?"

There had been so many glorious moments over the past two weeks that Gold hardly knew which one he wanted to relive and bring to its proper conclusion. The night he'd had her on his lap, the afternoons they'd worked together in the garden, their hands brushing as they weeded... Each one was a temptation.

His body was still raw from earlier that day though, and that was as good a starting point as any. There were certainly no books in this room, but he could pretend. He was good at it.

"Stand by the wardrobe. You're looking at something. You're distracted." The girl did as he bade, picking up a small box to examine like she was considering buying it. It would do. Gold stepped up behind her, his arms sliding around her waist as he buried his face against her throat, his teeth already nipping at her skin as he groaned, "Oh, _Belle_..."


	7. Chapter 7

With Ruby at her side, Belle made her way through Storybrooke, the streets growing narrower and dimmer as they left the familiar town square heading towards the infamous cathouse on the edge of town. Belle had never been near the place before, and the streets were more active than she'd expected them to be, making her wish she had a cloak to hide her face.

The cathouse was a cheery place, brightly-lit with music and men spilling out the open doors. Belle didn't see any women and tried not to think about what that might mean. Clutching Ruby's hand, she hesitated across the street from the building, wondering what to do.

"Are we going in?" Ruby whispered, her voice trembling a little.

Belle hadn't had much of a plan other than planning to find her husband, but the thought of walking into that place and demanding to see him made her blanch. What if someone recognized her? What if he wasn't there at all, and the whole thing was just vicious gossip being spread by George? She'd ruin both their reputations if that was the case.

"Come on." She tugged on Ruby's hand, leading her away from the building so they could walk around it. Perhaps there was a back entrance that would let her get closer without being seen. What she found was a small backyard, dark and shadowed, and a porch with another door, this one not nearly as crowded. Belle stepped a little closer, seeing a woman's body silhouetted in the doorway. Could she ask after her husband? How did one speak to a prostitute?

"What are you doing out here? Get back to work girls," Belle nearly jumped out of her skin as the woman's voice cut through the dark yard, obviously aimed at them. She and Ruby exchanged a look, and Ruby tugged on her hand, encouraging her to run. She was tempted, so tempted, but if her husband was in that house laying his hands on a woman who wasn't her, she had to know why. She stepped closer to the porch, the light spilling out of the cathouse not quite reaching her, Ruby close at her side.

"You're not my girls," the woman said with some surprise. "What are you doing here? Are you looking for work?"

Belle took one more step into the circle of light and the woman whistled lowly. "Well, well. Belle Gold. I take it you're looking for something else."

"I want to see my husband," she said politely, her voice firm.

The woman extended her hands in mocking welcome, her close-set eyes sparkling with amusement, "Then by all means. See him."

Belle squeezed Ruby's hand. "I'll be fine. Go back to Granny's." Her friend released her reluctantly, long fingers plucking at Belle's sleeve, but Belle only had eyes for the woman who was beckoning her into the house of ill repute.

She was whisked up a narrow staircase and into a dark hallway barely wide enough for one. The sounds of pleasure surrounded her, and Belle found herself looking at the older woman in askance. "We cater to all tastes here, Mrs. Gold," she whispered, "Some people prefer to watch. Your husband is a man of action."

Belle ground her teeth and allowed herself to be pushed along until they came to a piece of wall that looked like all the others. The woman reached out and pushed aside a strip of wood, revealing a narrow slit. "I'll leave you to it."

Waiting until the woman had disappeared down the steps calling out for someone named Astrid, Belle leaned forward and pressed her face to the wall, flinching back when she saw her husband- _her husband_- on a narrow bed with another woman. Looking up at the ceiling, she blinked back tears, then forced herself to look again, teeth grinding so loudly it was a miracle the pair couldn't hear her.

The girl was kneeling on the bed and clutching the metal headboard, her long dark hair hanging over her face, white chemise rucked up over her hips. Her husband was behind her, almost fully dressed and thrusting into her like a beast, his brow furrowed with concentration as he raked his fingers through the girl's hair over and over again.

Nausea doubled her over, choking her, and Belle rested her hand on the wall, hot tears spilling down her face as she swallowed bile. Her husband was making love to another woman, and he'd rather sleep in the barn than touch her. She couldn't watch any more.

"Belle." His hoarse groan reached her ears, and she froze, thinking he'd spotted her. The bed was still creaking, his movements continuing without pause, and she leaned in again, ready to tell him exactly what she thought of a man who was willing to make love to another woman in front of his wife.

He wasn't looking at her though, his eyes riveted to the girl on the bed, and she realized that in some sickening coincidence it must be the other woman's name too. "_Belle_..." he groaned again, sounding like he was dying, and a mixture of jealousy and arousal twisted in her belly. If she closed her eyes she could imagine he was talking to her like that as he came to her in her lonely bed.

She forced herself to watch as he grabbed the girl's hips, pulling her back into his hard thrusts. He wasn't talking to her. He didn't want her. She needed to remember that.

He was moving faster now, sweat slicking his face like it had when she'd nursed him through his fever. Belle didn't want to see any more, didn't want to _hear_ any more, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. She strained her ears as his mouth opened, disjointed words falling out.

"Wanted this all day... looked so beautiful in your dress... your pretty dress... driving me crazy... wanted you so bad... Belle, _please_..." He leaned down, wrapping his arms around the girl as he kissed the back of her neck, one hand reaching down between her legs, rubbing her there. "Belle... my little Belle..."

Belle's eyes widened as the pieces suddenly clicked into place. That was what he called her. He'd mentioned the dress. The girl's name wasn't Belle. He was pretending she was... pretending she was...

She pressed her body flat against the wall as her knees went weak, heat flooding through her body. She wasn't watching her husband make love to another woman. He was making love to _her_. It was _her_ neck he was kissing. It was _her_ hair he was tugging on. He wanted _her_.

The girl on the bed tossed her head and cried out, and that seemed to be some kind of signal. Gold's face contorted as his hips moved frantically, then he froze, his arms around the girl's waist to pull her back into him as he growled, an animalistic noise that made Belle's heart pound. He buried his face in the girl's neck as he collapsed on top of her, and Belle ran her fingers over her throat, almost feeling his lips there. "Belle..." he murmured reverently, then he tensed like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him, and he got off the girl and the bed, not looking at either, doing up his trousers with practiced efficiency.

As quietly as she could, Belle scurried down the hallway on legs that felt wobbly, racing down the steps and out of the cathouse on her way back to Granny's. She needed time to think about this, to try to figure out why he'd rather make love to a simulation instead of his wife, but if he caught her anywhere _near_ here, there was sure to be an explosion.

For a moment she thought she was being followed, but she kept running, and the footsteps veered off down another street, leaving her gasping with relief. Belle didn't stop until she reached the saloon, collapsing against the back entrance and gasping for breath, her heart racing in her chest.

"Belle!" Ruby hissed her name, sticking her head out the nearby window. "What happened? Did you find him?"

"I found him," she said, and her friend winced.

"What are you going to do? Do you want to stay here for awhile?" Belle smiled at Ruby's offer, not quite willing to tell her friend just what she'd seen. That was private- something for her to discuss with her husband alone.

"No. It's going to be fine. I just need to talk to him, that's all." Ruby looked at her like she'd grown a second head but didn't argue, just held out a glass of cool water that Belle drank down gratefully, patting her hair into place and wiping the perspiration from her face. Ruby nodded that she looked presentable, and she entered the saloon, leaning against the bar near Granny who was watching her with sharp eyes.

"Did you get things sorted?" the older woman asked her in a low voice.

"Not yet, but I'm going to," Belle answered, and she nodded in approval.

Before Granny could say anything more, her husband entered the saloon, and the noise level dropped dramatically. His eyes sought her out at once, and Belle marveled at his composed expression. If she hadn't seen what she had, she never would have guessed how he was spending his time. "Mrs. Lucas," he nodded to Granny before turning to Belle herself, "Did you have a nice visit?"

Fighting the unseemly urge to laugh, Belle nodded in agreement, indicating that she was ready to leave. Ruby came to hug her while he went to get the horses, whispering, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"No," Belle replied honestly, the numbness of shock finally starting to wear off, "But I will be." Knowing he'd been with someone else _hurt_, and she had more questions than she had answers, but at least now she knew he wanted her. That would be the starting point. Everything else could build from that.

Ruby clutched her closer before reluctantly letting go, and Belle joined her husband outside, allowing him to help her onto Dulcinea, the streets dark enough that she didn't feel self-conscious about how much leg she was showing. She'd have to start work on her riding outfit soon. Concentrating on that frivolous thought, she managed to distract herself until they were outside the boundaries of the town and heading for home. She smiled a little to herself as she realized the cabin truly did feel like home to her now, far more than the man riding beside her felt like her husband, but perhaps they could start to rectify that this night.

Her smile fled as the image of her husband with that woman swam in front of her eyes again. She trembled in the saddle, not sure what she was even feeling. Rage was a major component. He'd been unfaithful to her. He'd made love to a woman he pretended was her without ever giving her the chance to be with him. She wanted to hit him for that- strike him and scream and hurt him as badly as he'd hurt her. At the same time, he _had_ pretended the other woman was her. Her major fear was that he didn't want her, and now she had evidence that he did. If only she knew why he'd done it.

They had to talk. She could wonder until she ran mad, and she would never understand his reasoning if she didn't ask. She'd be calm, wouldn't shout or accuse, and they would talk this out like the rational adults they were.

He made a few abortive attempts to start a conversation as they rode, giving up at her monosyllabic responses. By the time they reached the barn, he was looking at her warily, and he continued to steal glances at her at they worked in silence to groom the horses. Still, he followed her to the pump, letting her rinse her hands before he washed his own, looking at her rather like a kicked dog.

"I'll... say good night then," he mumbled, not making any move to walk away.

Belle knew that if she didn't say something now, he'd disappear into the barn for the rest of the night and their chance to sort this out would be lost. "I'm going to make tea," she invited, "Join me?"

Obediently, he followed her into the cabin, looking at her like he hadn't had his hands all over another woman earlier that evening- a woman he'd pretended was her. He'd barely touch _his wife_, but he'd make love to another woman in her name, and more than anything she wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled and she got some answers.

She had to handle this calmly, she reminded herself. Tears and recriminations would do no good. They had to _talk_, and that wasn't something they'd excelled at over the last two weeks. Forcing herself to sound nonchalant, she asked, "So, what did you do while I was with Ruby?"

If she hadn't known better, she would have attributed his slight misstep to his limp, but he recovered quickly, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. "I went back to the store. I forgot a few things."

She nodded, putting the kettle on, "Anything else?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him lick his lips. "Not really."

Anger filled Belle at the lie. She hadn't expected him to confess, not truly, but to have him lie to her face was more than she could tolerate. She scooped tea leaves into the teapot, placed it neatly in the center of the table, and moved closer to her husband, ready to confront him with the truth. She'd tell him what she saw and demand some answers.

As she opened her mouth to do just that, the image of her husband's hands on the prostitute's body flitted in front of her eyes again, and Belle changed her mind about the value of talking. Instead, she clenched her trembling fingers into a fist, drew her arm back, and simply punched him as hard as she could in the face.

0 0 0 0 0

Gold considered himself justifiably paranoid. He had spent a lifetime watching out for threats and had developed what was nearly a sixth sense when it came to spotting potential danger. Therefore it came as a bit of a surprise when Belle's fist slammed into his face just to the left of his nose before he'd even registered her moving.

He landed hard on his arse, mostly from sheer surprise, although for such a tiny thing, Belle packed quite a wallop. If she'd chosen to hit him in the nose, there was a damned good chance she'd have broken it. Staring up at her in disbelief, he took in the way her eyes were flashing in her flushed face as she stood over him, hands firmly planted on her hips like some kind of warrior goddess. Belle had never looked more gorgeous which was distracting him from the pertinent fact that his wife had just _hit him in the face_.

"Belle?" he managed, her name coming out as some kind of bizarre, strangled noise.

"What did you do while I was with Ruby?" she repeated very slowly and clearly, and his stomach dropped. She knew. He'd thought he'd covered his tracks, but she _knew_, and she was furious.

He gaped up at her like a landed fish, hating himself. There was no defense for this. Belle was going to leave him.

Apparently irritated by his silence, Belle challenged, "You'll make love to a woman who looks like me but not to me?" and Gold's stomach curdled. It was worse than he'd thought. Not only did she know about the cathouse, she knew about the girl, his fantasy-Belle. She wasn't going to leave him. She was going to _kill_ him.

"Who told you?" he rasped, eyes nervously searching her face as he blatantly stalled for time. Somewhere there had to be an acceptable explanation for this that didn't involve telling her the truth. He just had to come up with it.

"Ruby," Belle laughed mirthlessly, "I didn't want to believe her. I had to see for myself."

His blood ran cold as he realized what she was saying. "You were _there_?" he asked in horror, not sure which thought appalled him more: her seeing him in the act or her putting herself in danger by venturing to that part of town. The latter was worse, he decided immediately. Belle's safety was paramount. He clambered to his feet, looking her over carefully for any sign that she'd been interfered with. "Belle, that's a dangerous area. You could have been hurt. What were you _thinking_?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared back, "I was thinking I wanted to know who the woman was my husband preferred to his wife."

Bile rose in his throat at her assessment of the situation. She'd thought he didn't want her. The idea would be laughable if it wasn't so heartbreaking. What in God's name had he _done_? As he searched for something to say, he noticed Belle looking down at her hand with a frown, shaking it like it hurt, and he realized the adrenaline was wearing off. "Here." Grateful for something to do with his hands, he wetted a towel at the basin and steered her over to the bed, sitting down beside her and taking her hand in his free one to inspect it. She hissed when he touched her thumb, and he ran his fingers over it more thoroughly, making certain it wasn't broken. "Always make a fist with your thumb outside your fingers," he instructed as he wrapped her hand in the wet towel, "You could break it otherwise."

Needing something else to do, he rose and filled the teapot from the kettle that was starting to boil over, wincing as he heard her voice behind him, "I'll keep that in mind for the next time you decide to be unfaithful." Her eyes were boring into his back.

"Never again," he vowed hoarsely, moving to kneel at her feet, welcoming the pain that shot through his knee. He fucking _deserved_ it. He'd hurt her, the very thing he was trying not to do, and he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "_Never again_, Belle, I swear."

"Why?" She seemed to force herself to look at him, her blue eyes dark with hurt. "I don't understand why."

Gold shrugged helplessly, "I thought it would be better for you. If I found an outlet so I wasn't... forcing my attentions on you."

She shook her head, "I'm your wife."

"You married me for protection, not love. I didn't want you to think I expected..." He trailed off, not sure how to continue that sentence without offending her sensibilities.

"You made love to someone else because you thought I didn't want you." Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and he fought the urge to take them in his own. He didn't deserve to touch her.

"Nothing I did with that woman could ever be described as 'lovemaking,'" he said drily, "But yes."

She nodded seeming to process that for a moment before she said softly, "I'm not unwilling."

The rush of lust her words provoked just proved how wrong she was to make him that offer. Belle had been a dutiful daughter, and now she was a dutiful wife, and exploiting that sense of duty would be wrong even by his own low standards. He was a selfish, greedy bastard, but even he wouldn't stoop to forcing himself on her because she thought she owed him her body.

"I love you," she added, almost inaudibly, and those longed-for words nearly stopped his heart. He'd dreamt about hearing those words from her lips for _years_, and they were even more beautiful in her voice than he'd ever imagined. Hearing her say that was all he'd ever wanted and far too good to be true.

"You don't," he denied gently, "You're grateful, Belle, that's all. You don't have to say it; I'm happy enough just having you here." It was a lie, of course, already he wanted nothing more than to grovel at her feet and beg her to say it again, to keep saying it even if she didn't mean it. If he could hear nothing but those words of love for the rest of his life, he'd be a far happier man than a monster like him deserved to be.

Fighting the urge to reach for her, Gold clenched his hands in front of him and risked sneaking a look up at her. Belle looked _furious_.

"I didn't let my father make decisions for me, and I won't let you do it either," she snapped, looking like she wouldn't mind hitting him again. Grabbing his arm, she yanked him up to sit next to her on the bed. "I agreed to marry George to protect my father. I agreed to marry _you_ because I _wanted_ to, but you are not going to tell me how I'm allowed to feel. I love you."

Hearing those words for the second time was somehow even more shattering than the first, although she seemed more annoyed than affectionate. Still, Gold couldn't let himself believe her. If he let himself believe that Belle loved him, it would destroy him when she realized she didn't. "You don't mean that," he choked out, wishing with everything he had that she did. When her eyes flashed dangerously, he rephrased, "Belle, I've done so many things, so many unforgivable things. If you knew... you'd never say that."

He blinked hard and stared at his hands, trying not to cry in front of her. Bleak memories of his own past danced behind his eyes, reminding him yet again of why Belle could never, _ever_ love him. If only he'd been stronger, smarter, _better_ maybe they could have built something, but he'd destroyed any chance he'd had with her long before he'd ever met her. No woman could love a man like him. If Belle knew what he'd done, she'd never permit him near her again.

One tear slipped down his weathered cheek despite his best efforts, and he felt warm fingers brush it away. "Then tell me," Belle whispered, leaning closer to him and he fought the need to press himself against her to feel the comfort of her touch, "I've heard the stories..."

"They're all true," he said hoarsely.

"Tell me," she said again and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. "You're my husband. Let me know you."

He shook his head, wanting nothing more than to flee the room, but simply moving away from her was impossible. Belle sat back a little and placed her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into the tight muscles in an effort to relax him. When it became obvious it wasn't going to work, she slipped off the bed to kneel at his feet, tugging his boots off the way she'd done once before. She was taking care of him again, and he felt worse than he had the night he'd been shot. He'd hurt her, and _she_ was caring for _him_. It was wrong. "Belle-"

"Hush," she murmured, kicking off her own slippers and dispensing with the towel he'd wrapped her hand in as she moved to sit at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard and leaving plenty of room beside her. "Come here." She held her arms out to him in welcome, and Gold could no more have rejected her invitation than he could fly. He took the place beside her, his hip against hers, and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair so he could breathe her in. His Belle was still with him. Perhaps they could get through this after all.

She let him hold her for long minutes, the precious feeling of her in his arms slowly restoring his equanimity. Finally she pulled away, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands and press a soft kiss to his lips. "You've given me so many beautiful things," she whispered, "There's only one more thing I want from you, my husband: tell me your story."

Gold rested his forehead against hers with a sigh, knowing he could deny her nothing, not even this, not even knowing she'd leave him once she knew. "All right," he breathed, giving in. He stole one last kiss before sitting back, searching his mind for where to start. There was little enough to be said about his impoverished childhood. Belle took his hand, squeezing his fingers as he began hesitantly, "I was married once before. A long time ago."

Not sure how much Belle would want to hear about his first marriage, he paused, and she came to his rescue. "What was her name?"

It shamed him that he actually had to think about it for a moment. "Nora. She was sixteen, and I was seventeen."

Belle lifted his hand to her mouth to kiss his fingers, offering him comfort for a wound that no longer hurt. "We had to get married. She was... expecting."

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't loosen her grip on his hand. Gold supposed that after what had happened earlier, she was unlikely to be surprised he hadn't been a chaste youth. "What happened to her?" she whispered.

He cast his mind back to that dreadful time. They'd been married all of four months when it happened. "The baby came early. He lived; she didn't."

Belle closed her eyes, her lips moving in what looked like prayer for a moment before she returned her attention to him. Gold didn't know how to communicate what those days had been like. Nora was gone, but that loss had paled in comparison to the all-consuming love he'd immediately felt for his son, the boy small and weak and fragile in his clumsy hands. "I named him Bae. He was so little, littler than he should have been." For months, Gold had barely slept or eaten, all his energy focused on keeping his son alive, and somehow he'd done it. "He grew though. He turned into a fine, strong boy."

A soft smile curved Belle's mouth when he said that, and for once, Gold remembered the joy of Bae's life instead of the tragedy that came later. "We had a little farm. It wasn't much, but he had room to play. He liked dogs and horses. I taught him to ride." He'd taught Bae to ride; how had he forgotten that? He'd wanted to gallop before he could trot, always so impetuous. Gold had worked his fingers to the bone to scrape out a living for the two of them, relying more on his skill as a hunter than his farming abilities to do so, but they'd been happy.

It hadn't lasted long enough. "When he was thirteen he went to stay with some friends. They wanted to camp, play at being soldiers." His voice broke, and he pressed his lips together. Surely he should be out of tears by now. Immediately, Belle's arms went around him, pulling him close so he could bury his face against her throat as she stroked his hair. He clung to her desperately, the one good thing remaining in his universe.

The next words were forced out through clenched teeth. "Indians raided. Thought they were older. They got too close to something. I don't know." He'd gone over it and _over_ it in his head so many times, wondering what could possibly have motivated the attack, and he'd never know the truth. It didn't really matter. No explanation would make his loss easier to bear. "I buried what was left, and I went after them."

Belle clutched him tighter, grounding him. He could feel her shaking as she quietly cried into his hair, weeping for the loss of a boy she'd never known. Had Bae lived, he'd be older than Belle was now. It was an impossible thought. When he continued, his voice was bleak. "I found the tribe. They had Bae's pistol, the one I gave him. I killed them. _All_ of them."

Carefully he pulled himself out of her arms to look into her tearstained face so he could be certain she understood what he was saying. "I killed all of them, Belle. The women and children too. _All of them_."

Her voice broke on a sob, and she nodded jerkily, "I understand."

He waited for her to say more, to recoil from him, but she just watched him, her eyes tender and overflowing with tears. "Belle, I killed children," he repeated, "And you _understand_?"

She nodded, swiping her hand over her eyes. "I understand. I don't condone it, but... I understand."

"That's not the end of it," he rasped, not trusting her reaction. Perhaps the shock of learning her husband was a child-killer had numbed her senses, because otherwise how could she bear to look at him? God knew he hadn't been able to look at himself in a mirror for years afterward.

Belle reached out to him, drawing him down against her until his head was pillowed in her lap, her fingers twined in his hair. "Tell me," she murmured, her nails scratching gently at his scalp.

"After that, I just rode away. Took me days to realize how badly I'd hurt my knee; it didn't matter much. I was a good shot even back then, and I hired myself out to anyone who needed a gun. Robbery, murder for hire, I'd do it as long as there was money in it for whiskey. I crawled into a bottle and _stayed_ there." He'd spent the first five years after Bae's death drunk out of his mind, unable to deal either with his son's loss or what he'd done to avenge his boy. Even the knowledge that somewhere Bae was ashamed of him wasn't enough to pry his fingers off the bottle.

Only his own vague sense of self-preservation had hauled him out of those depths when he'd nearly taken a bullet in the back from an unscrupulous associate. He'd continued to be a drunk; he just stopped drinking on the job. "I told myself I wouldn't kill anyone who didn't deserve it, but how was I supposed to know? I've never forgotten one of them, not one. Sometimes, I wonder about what kind of lives they had, what I took away from them..."

Belle leaned down to kiss his temple, her lips lingering like a benediction. "You're not that man anymore," she whispered against his skin, but he couldn't accept her absolution.

"I haven't killed in cold blood in a dozen years, but I'll always be a killer. That doesn't change." Once a man took that step there was no going back. He could spend the rest of his life behaving well enough to qualify for sainthood but there was no getting the blood off his hands.

"Why did you stop?" Belle prompted him, going back to stroking his hair like she wasn't revolted by his mere presence.

"I fell in with a group that was more interested in robbery than murder. We hit a train, and it went like clockwork. My share alone was more money than I'd ever spend." He wrapped his arm around her legs, pressing himself closer. "I just felt so tired, so _old_. I just wanted to stop. I decided to find the quietest little town I could and drink myself to death."

He'd found his reputation preceded him even in sleepy, placid Storybrooke, but it had hardly mattered. He wasn't there for the company. Above him, Belle stifled a sob at the fate he'd planned for himself, and he squeezed her knee in reassurance. "Being here helped, seeing decent people. I hadn't had that in a long time." None of the decent people of Storybrooke had ever given him the time of day, but just being around them had reminded him that he'd once been a man, not the beast he'd become. They'd enabled him to remember his life before Bae's death and honor his son's memory. They given him back his humanity.

Gold shifted onto his back to look up at Belle's pale face. "After a couple of years here, I gave up on drinking myself to death. I still drink, but I haven't gotten drunk in almost nine years. Not since someone gave me a reason to stop." He reached up to wrap one of her curls around his finger and tug gently, not sure how she'd react to his next words.

Belle wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, her eyes brightening at the possibility of regained hope. "What happened?"

Gold kept playing with her hair, focusing on the curl instead of meeting her eyes. "A pretty young lady started smiling at me whenever I passed her on the street." He risked a look at her face, unable to read her expression, "You must have been about sixteen then. You were so... I didn't dare even _dream_ about you, but I wanted to be the kind of man who was worthy of your smiles." Belle had looked at him like he was worth something, and he hadn't wanted to prove her wrong. Even now, nearly a decade later, he still didn't know how to describe what her smile had done to him. It was like he'd been living in a shadowy room since Bae's death, and she'd suddenly ripped down the draperies and let sunlight back in.

"_Me_?" Belle breathed, looking a bit stricken, "You're talking about _me_?"

Gold hoped he wasn't upsetting her, but he didn't dare stop now. Not being honest with Belle had hurt her. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She was kind. She'd be careful with his heart once she knew she had it. "I've loved you since the moment I saw you. You made me _better_, Belle. You gave me something to live for. I didn't believe I'd ever be allowed to get near you, but just _seeing_ you was enough for me." He'd lived for her smiles, craving them more than he'd ever craved whiskey.

Swallowing hard, he continued, "The girl... the wh- prostitute... She was as close as I could get to you. I could look at her hair and pretend... It was like you were mine, just for a while." The first time he'd done it had been completely unintentional. Partway through, he'd noticed how much the girl's hair looked like Belle's and his mind had taken off with the fantasy like a runaway horse. He'd never found more pleasure in the act or felt worse afterward. Yet, he'd kept coming back for more, the promise of a Belle who wanted his kisses and caresses too much for him to resist.

She covered her mouth with her hand as she started to cry again, and he made a noise of distress, trying to wipe away her tears with his trembling fingers. "You never said anything," she whispered, her voice shaking, "You've loved me all this time, and I never knew. Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"Because I knew I wasn't worthy of you," he said achingly, willing her to understand. "You deserve a prince, Belle, not me. I would have been content just to watch you and keep you safe, but then you needed me, and I thought I could make you happy. I just wanted you to be happy." He'd never meant for any of this to happen, but he'd been too weak to ignore the opportunity to have Belle for his own. He'd tried to do right by her and not push for more than she wanted to give, but like everything else he touched, he'd hurt her too.

"Having you love me makes me happy," she told him, smoothing back his hair. "I fell in love with you while I was nursing you, and nothing you've said has changed that. You're still the same man. I just know you better now."

"Belle-" he began, and she brushed her fingers over his lips to silence him.

"You're a _good_ man," she informed him, not giving him the chance to protest. "Yes, you've done terrible things, but I can understand why. And... you're sorry, aren't you? You'd take it back if you could?"

"God, yes," he rasped, the words sticking in his throat. He'd do anything to wipe the slate clean and undo his past crimes. The world didn't work like that though, and there was nothing to be done.

"And you're trying to do things differently now. You made mistakes, but you're moving passed them. You've learned from them. To me, that's what a good man is. Not someone who's perfect, but someone who's willing to keep trying." Her impassioned defense of him made him smile and want to cry at the same time.

"I'm trying to do better," he agreed. "I want to be a man you can be proud of, Belle. I just don't know if I ever can be. I haven't killed in cold blood in twelve years, but I _have_ killed." He hated to admit it, not wanting to see her disappointment in him.

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because it was them or me, and I wasn't going to let it be me." The night he'd been shot came immediately to mind as did several other incidents over the past decade. He was not a well-loved man, and the past occasionally came calling.

"Self-defense is different-" she started, but he couldn't let her continue.

"That won't change," he warned her, "After what I've done, there will always be people coming after me. You too now, and if someone is threatening you, I _will no_t hesitate." She had to know what she was letting herself in for if she stayed with him.

"Is that why you wanted me to learn to ride?" she asked.

"I was going to teach you anyway. To thank you for saving my life," he admitted, and her eyes softened at the confession, "But now that we're married? Yes. I'm going to teach you to shoot too, although I hope you never need to. I will protect you, Belle. No matter what. Even if you leave me tomorrow, I will _always_ protect you." He'd go back to shadowing her steps if he had to, but as long as he was alive, no harm would be allowed to come to his Belle.

Mentally he ran down the list of everything he needed to teach her. He favored pistols, but a rifle might be better for her unless he could find something light enough for her to handle that would still be reliable. She needed to learn to ride bareback and to jump. A bit of knife work and hand to hand combat would probably be useful too. God, what had he _done_ in exposing her to this life? He'd put her at risk by marrying her; how had he never thought of that?

Belle looked completely serene at the notion of being in a position where she had to fight for her life. "I know you will. I trust you," she told him, and her confidence in him humbled him, "And I am _never_ going to leave you."

"Belle..." he murmured, her name the only thing he could think to say.

Her tender smile brought tears to his eyes. "You're my husband," she reminded him, leaning down to kiss his forehead, "You're a good man. And I love you."

He sat up so he could kiss her properly, chasing those words with his own mouth, wanting to lick them off her lips. Belle moaned, curling her fingers in his hair, and he could still hear the echo of her promise in his ears. She loved him. He'd told her all of it, and his Belle loved him anyway. "I love you," he gasped against her lips, "Always. I've _always_ loved you."

This time when he kissed her he tasted salt, and he wasn't sure which one of them was crying. He rather thought they both were, but it couldn't matter less. Belle loved him. He crushed her against him, slanting his mouth over hers again and again, content just to drink her in. When he finally had to pull back so they could breathe, Belle smiled up at him with dazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips, and the knowledge that he'd done that to her made him tremble. "You'll stop sleeping in the barn, won't you?"

Her question was like a splash of ice water, and Gold released her, licking his lips nervously and swallowing a groan when he realized he could still taste her. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said raggedly.

"Why?" she asked, her eyes losing some of that gloriously dazed look. "You want me, and I want you."

He shuddered at hearing her say she desired him, wanting nothing more than to crush her mouth beneath his again, kiss her until she couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_, could only moan his name and sob with pleasure as he touched every inch of her perfect body. That was the very reason he needed to stay in the barn with the beasts. "I've wanted you for nine years," he told her, appalled at how hoarse his voice was, "I won't be able to be gentle with you, and I already hurt you once."

She looked at him in confusion like she didn't remember him sinking his teeth into her delicate throat. "When did you hurt me?"

Gold brushed his fingers over the place he'd left his mark on her, remembering the combination of relief and despair he'd felt when it had finally faded. "The day after our wedding. I didn't mean to; I just wanted to kiss you, but I lost control. I bit you, and you cried. I hurt you, Belle. I didn't mean to, but I did, and I won't risk hurting you again."

Belle blushed brilliantly, her skin warming under his fingertips. "You didn't hurt me," she said, her lips turning up in an embarrassed smile. "I liked it."

He shook his head, unable to credit that statement although he appreciated her attempt at making him feel better. "You sobbed. If I didn't hurt you, I at least scared you." Hurting Belle, frightening Belle, neither of those things was acceptable. He dropped his hand when he noticed he'd started caressing her pulse point.

If anything, her blush got deeper. "You certainly didn't frighten me," she said huskily, "I... Before we were married I thought about it. About you doing that. It felt better than I expected it to, and I... Granny said men _like_ it when women make noise."

Belle was staring fixedly at his collar, unable to meet his eyes, and Gold fumbled for words. She'd thought about it? His little Belle had thought about having him kiss her throat? And that noise she'd made- that breathless little sob- that was how she sounded when she was being pleased? The blood rushed from his head to travel south so fast it left him light-headed. "You thought about it? About me?" He barely sounded human.

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes, but her blush was fading. "The night you saved me from George and I kissed your cheek, I started thinking about it. One time, Ruby came in with a mark on her neck, and I wondered what it would feel like if you marked me like that." Her cheeks flushed again as she looked up at him shyly, "It felt nice."

His mouth was bone dry, but Gold couldn't think of a damned thing to say anyway, so it was no matter. Instead he leaned forward, burying his face against the curve of her neck to breathe her in as her arms went around him, welcoming him. His Belle wanted him. She'd thought about him, and it seemed far too good to be true, yet somehow it was. He burrowed against her, pressing hungry, open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat, and this time when he heard that little sob, he echoed it with a groan of his own. Belle's fingers were in his hair, petting him, and he was kissing her, and she _liked_ it. It was so perfect he wanted to cry, but then her hands moved from his hair to his shoulders as he worried her skin with blunt teeth, and she was pushing him away.

Gold sat back immediately, taking his hands off of her and willing himself to stop shaking. "I'm sorry," he said at once, cursing himself for rushing her. Admitting she'd thought about him was a far cry from indicating she wanted him right that moment, and would he _never_ learn control when he was with her?

A warm hand pressed his cheek, bringing him back to the moment. "Don't be. I liked it." Belle smiled at him crookedly for a moment then sighed. "It's just... you smell like lilacs."

It took him a second to figure out what she was talking about, then mortification swept through him. Of course she didn't want him like this, not when he still reeked of another woman. "I'm _so_ sorry, Belle."

She nodded, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. "Just.. don't do it again?"

"_Never_," he vowed, hoping she could hear how much he meant it, "No one but you ever again."

She smiled a little, her fingers tangling in his sleeve, and he took her hand in his own to squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing her wedding ring with his thumb. "Why don't I go clean myself up?" he suggested, and she nodded, looking relieved.

After a quick kiss to her forehead, Gold left the cabin, not even feeling the ever-present pain in his knee. His wife loved him, wanted him, had promised to stay with him, and nothing else mattered. He stripped off in the yard, washing every trace of the whore from his body, the frigid water cooling the heat of his desire. He was grateful for that. Belle needed tenderness and care, and he prayed he'd be able to provide it.

He didn't actually own any sleeping attire, so he simply found his oldest, most worn pair of trousers and slipped them on in the barn, forgoing a shirt. She'd seen him bare chested the night he'd been shot and hadn't been shocked. At least he didn't think she had been; that night was a bit of a blur.

To his relief, she didn't blanch when he reentered the cabin to find her already in bed, clad only in her chemise, her hair loose and curling about her face and looking like every fantasy he'd ever had come to life. Instead she smiled at the sight of him, drawing back the quilt to encourage him to join her. Gold extinguished the lantern and slipping in beside her, turning on his side so they were lying face to face on the same pillow, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She moved closer to kiss his cheek with gentle lips. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"I had it coming," Gold chuckled, and she giggled softly.

"I love you," Belle murmured, lifting her hand to cradle his jaw, and Gold turned his head to kiss her palm, shivering at her words.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered. Despite everything he'd done, despite all the ways he'd hurt her and let her down, this perfect creature loved him. His Belle, who he'd loved so hopelessly for so long, loved him.

Her nose crinkled as she smiled, and he couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her there. "We'll agree to disagree," she told him, stifling a yawn, "Until I convince you otherwise."

"You're tired." He was too, he realized. He'd dredged things up he preferred to let lie and although he didn't feel nearly as bad as he usually did after thinking of them- Belle's mere presence acting as a salve- mentally, he was exhausted.

"It's been a busy day," she said drily, smiling as he threaded his fingers through the curls he'd been longing to touch for so many years. He was allowed now. He was allowed to touch her and kiss her, and she wouldn't strike him or run. She loved him. He continued to marvel at the thought, wondering if this wasn't all some kind of dream.

"I liked it when you held me before," she confessed shyly, "When you were ill. I felt so safe with you holding me."

No man could resist an invitation like that, and Gold didn't even try. He drew her closer, sighing as her arm went around his waist, his eyes fluttering closed at the touch of bare skin. Resting his cheek on her hair, he knew he'd never be able to sleep, not with Belle in his arms, safe and warm and content just as he'd always wanted. He wanted nothing more than to just lie awake and memorize the precious feeling of her in his arms so he forgot nothing about this night, but his body betrayed him. In spite of himself, he relaxed, feeling more grounded and content than he could ever remember being before. "I love you, Belle," he whispered into her hair with the last of his conscious will before he slipped into sleep between one breath and another, never loosening his hold on his wife.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the delay in posting this! I'm going on vacation for a couple of weeks, so chapter nine will be even later, but this seems like a nice place to leave them for a bit. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Belle lay awake long after he'd drifted into sleep, rubbing his back and trying to incorporate everything he'd told her into her mental image of her husband. To murder children was an abomination, but he'd just lost his own child. She couldn't believe he'd been in his right mind, and the anguish on his face when he'd told her about it showed how much he regretted it. No, he wasn't a monster, just a man who'd been hurt badly and lashed out.

Even in his sleep, he was holding her like he was afraid she'd be torn away from him, and her mind kept going back to what he'd said: that he'd loved her for nine years. In the face of that declaration, what he'd done with the prostitute seemed totally insignificant. He loved her and wanted her, and he'd only touched the other girl because he thought she didn't requite him. It seemed impossible that her confident husband could be every bit as insecure as poor Pastor Hopper, but now that she knew, her heart broke for him. The things he'd said about himself...

Her husband saw himself as a monster unworthy of her love, and Belle decided that her task as his wife was to convince him otherwise. His past had made him the man he was today, the man that she loved. The fact that he could have so many painful memories and still be as gentle and kind as he was said much more for the strength of his character than anything he'd done in the midst of his agony.

Belle nestled closer to him, and his arms tightened even more, holding her the way he had when he'd been fevered. That night she'd thought she'd never feel safer than she did with him holding her, but this was even better. He loved her, and that made all the difference.

When she woke the next morning, she was still in his arms, her back pressed against his chest, his leg wrapped around both of hers. She could feel the warm rush of his breath as he snored softly into her hair, and she covered his hands with her own and squeezed, feeling somehow protective of him. She'd never dreamed that he could be vulnerable, but now that she knew he was, Belle was determined he would know no more pain that it was in her power to prevent.

Although she could have happily spent the day in his arms, her body had different ideas, and she wriggled out of his embrace as gently as she could, trying not to wake him. After taking care of morning necessities, she returned to the bed, sitting down on its edge to look at him.

He'd rolled onto his back, but otherwise he hadn't stirred, looking more relaxed than Belle had ever seen him and sleeping like he was under a spell. Unable to resist the temptation, she brushed a lock of his hair off his face and just gazed at him, wishing this was what they could have been like from the start. How much easier would the first weeks of their marriage have been if they'd just slept in the same bed?

If she'd been lonely alone in the bed, what must it have been like for him alone in the barn? A wave of sympathy washed over her at the thought. Whatever she'd suffered, it must have been worse for him to have her in his home and think he wasn't permitted to touch her. Even when she'd told him she'd welcome his touch- and the words had been so necessary to say that there was no point in being embarrassed by them- he'd been hesitant, and they'd have to work on that.

This seemed like an excellent time to start. Belle took a deep breath and eased the quilt down, baring his chest to her sight, relieved that he didn't stir because she couldn't contain her blush. She'd seen him bare-chested the night he'd been shot, but she'd been so frantic to save him that she hadn't really looked. Now she had the opportunity to admire his body at her leisure, and Belle found much to admire. Her husband was lean with a wiry strength she'd felt for herself each time he'd helped her mount Dulcinea. Although his chest was nearly hairless, it was far from being unmarked. In addition to the fresh scar on his side that she recognized as her handiwork, other, older scars crisscrossed his skin bringing tears to her eyes at this visible reminder of his tortured past. She ran her fingers gently over one long puckered mark that stretched down from his breastbone, angling towards his side, and he stirred at her touch, blinking sleep from his eyes as he looked up at her. "Belle?" he whispered, looking like he wasn't sure if she was real or not.

"Good morning," she smiled, her tears forgotten at the sleepy wonder in his dark eyes when she leaned down to brush her lips over his. He stroked her hair gently, his lips clinging to hers.

"You're still here," he breathed when their lips parted, and Belle held onto her smile with an effort, nodding.

"I won't leave you," she reminded him, lying down beside him to rest her head on his chest, "I love you."

"Oh, Belle," he murmured, his arms going around her to hold her closer. "I can't believe this is real. I... I dreamed about this so many times."

"It's real," she promised. What had she ever done to win this man's love? What was so special about her that she deserved this depth of adoration? Belle knew the answer to both questions was nothing, nothing at all, but for some reason he'd chosen her, and she was nothing but grateful that he had.

She stroked his bare chest, feeling him shudder beneath her as she traced his scars. "What's this one from?" she asked idly, fingering the long puckered mark she'd been examining before.

He glanced down to see which one she was touching, "Knife wound. There was a disagreement about the payout after a robbery."

Belle's breath caught at his matter-of-fact tone. Although it was damage to his body they were discussing, he seemed distanced from it, like it didn't matter. She wondered if he'd had anyone to help put him back together after it had happened, but based on the story he'd told her, she was sure the answer was no. Propping herself up on her elbow, she leaned down to kiss the length of the scar, offering comfort now in an effort to make up for not being there when it happened. When her lips caressed his skin, he sucked in a breath and didn't let it back out until she raised her head guiltily, "I'm sorry, does that hurt?"

Silently, he shook his head, his eyes wide and dark, and Belle returned to what she'd been doing. When she reached the end of the scar, he let his breath out shakily, and she found another mark on his skin near his shoulder. "What about this one?"

"Bar fight. Broken bottle," he answered her, and she repeated her ministrations, kissing every bit of marred skin. After that, she insisted on knowing the story of each scar, kissing each in turn and wishing her touch could actually heal, that she could erase the damage to his body and soul with nothing but the press of her lips.

Once she'd kissed each scar on his chest, she made him turn over to repeat the process with the marks on his back. Although her heart ached for him with every memory of a bullet or knife or lash he shared with her, Belle didn't allow herself to cry, afraid that he'd take her tears as a sign or horror or pity. She mourned for the man he'd once been, wishing she could have known him when his skin was without flaw. As she kissed the old wounds, she allowed herself to imagine that she could protect him from ever receiving any of them, that she could save him from his life of loneliness and pain.

Finally, there was only one scar left, and Belle kissed it tenderly. "This one I know," she murmured, pleased that it didn't seem to pain him despite its freshness.

"Three gunmen ambushed me that night," he told her the story of the injury that had brought them together. "I took them down, but I wasn't fast enough to walk away unscathed."

Belle kissed the mark again and allowed him to turn over so she could see his face. "I'm so thankful you thought to come to papa for help," she sighed, leaning down to kiss his lips.

When she lifted her head, he was looking at her in confusion. "I wasn't there for your father's help." He sounded puzzled that she'd even suggested such a thing.

"You weren't?" Belle's brow furrowed, "But you came to the house. I heard you knock."

"I was _dying_," he reminded her, and her breath caught at the memory, "I thought I was done for, and I just... I wanted to see you one last time. I wanted to look at you again before I died. That was my only plan."

Belle couldn't prevent the tears from spilling down her cheeks as he made his confession, and he made a noise of distress, cradling the back of her neck to pull her down to him so he could kiss the salty droplets away. "Don't, Belle. Please don't. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You thought you were dying, and all you wanted was to see me?" she asked, struggling to control her tears in the face of his dismay.

He managed a half smile for her, keeping her close, "All I ever wanted was to be with you. Of course you were my last request."

Belle sobbed, covering his mouth with her own and kissing him fiercely. He'd thought he was dying and out of everything he could have wanted, he wanted to see her. His hands tangled in her hair, and his tongue teased her bottom lip. Belle gasped, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, stroking against her own. Her muscles seemed to liquify, and she collapsed onto his chest only to find herself caught in strong arms as he rolled her onto her back, half-covering her with his own body as he kept his lips against hers, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth.

He'd kissed her like this the day after their wedding, and Belle had been instantly overwhelmed, not even Ruby's stories preparing her for what it would be like to have a man possess her mouth in that way. The second time, it was still overwhelming, but Belle reveled in the feeling of being plundered, of giving herself to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him more tightly against her, unable to get close enough to her husband.

His tongue stroked over the roof of her mouth, and she moaned, the sound muffled by his lips. At the noise, his hands clenched in her hair, pulling it. Belle hardly noticed the pressure, but he was suddenly pulling away, breathing heavily, his lips slightly parted and glistening, his eyes almost black. "I'm sorry," he panted, gently stroking her curls.

The only thing he should be apologizing for was stopping, Belle decided. Tugging on his shoulders, she invited, "Kiss me again."

He froze, staring at her with wide eyes, then his mouth twisted and he leaned down to press a quick and unsatisfying kiss to her lips. "Are you thirsty? I could make tea."

"Anthony," she maintained her grip on his shoulders when he tried to move away from her, but she rather thought it was the fact that she'd actually used his name that brought him up short. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and tried to smile, making a poor go of it. "Nothing, love. I just don't want to rush you."

A warm glow filled Belle when he called her love, but there was no time to be distracted. "You're not," she informed him, choosing not to remind him that they'd been married for over two weeks, and she was still all but untouched. That wasn't the issue; somehow she knew it wasn't. "What's _wrong_?"

He swallowed hard, looking down for a moment before reluctantly meeting her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you," he said softly.

"You won't-" she started to assure him, but he shook his head.

"I just did," he reminded her, running his hand over her hair where he'd pulled. "Belle, I have _no_ control when it comes to you. I... I want you too much. More than I should. More than is safe for you."

On the surface, his words seemed ridiculous. The thought of being desired too much seemed as unlikely as being loved too much. Belle didn't think either was possible. Yet his eyes were anguished, and she could tell that he believed what he was saying as completely as he believed he was a monster. She wondered if it was possible to teach him that neither was true. "You stopped."

"I had to-" he began earnestly, and Belle put her fingers on his lips to stop him.

"You've thought you hurt me twice now, and both times you stopped yourself," she said calmly. "And last night when I asked you to stop, you did."

He licked his lips nervously, "We'd barely started, love. If I start touching you- _really_ touching you- Belle, there's no way I'll be able to stop."

"What if I don't want you to stop?" she asked, amazed at how forward she was being. Belle was accustomed to fighting off men's advances, not all but begging for them, but they needed to work through this. She trusted her husband. He needed to learn to trust himself. "We're _married_, and I'm still not a wife."

He made a soft, wounded noise like she'd struck him, then his arms were going around her, and he pulled her against him, the pair of them clinging to each other in the middle of the bed. "You are though," he said into her hair, his voice fierce, "You're _my_ wife, my little Belle. All that matters is that we're together. I don't care about anything else."

"All you want is to be with me?" she asked, still amazed by how much he valued her.

He swallowed hard and nodded, and Belle pressed her lips to his throat. "Then _be with me_."

"Belle, you don't _know_-" he moaned, sounding like he was in agony.

"Then teach me," she whispered against his skin, "You're my husband. I trust you. _Be_ my husband." Her face flamed at the words as she all but begged for her husband's attentions, but there was nothing demeaning in this. She was his wife, his helpmeet, and he needed her to do this. He needed to know she wasn't fragile, wasn't breakable, wasn't something to be worshipped from afar. She was a woman- _his_ woman- and she wanted him to be hers as well.

Daringly, she parted her lips and sucked at his throat, feeling the way he trembled in her arms at the action. Stealing blatantly from him, she let her teeth scrape his skin, nipping gently and hoping it felt as good to him as it had to her.

He groaned, the sound loud and tortured in the quiet room, and he yanked her closer until Belle could scarcely breathe. Something hard was pressing against her hip, and her eyes widened, then slammed shut as she realized what she was feeling, the diagrams from her papa's medical books and her own brief glimpse of his body doing nothing to prepare her for what it would feel like to have that part of him against her. Refusing to let her shyness rule her, Belle pressed a tender kiss to the spot she'd bitten, then let her lips stray downward a tiny bit so she could repeat the process.

Suddenly, she found herself on her back with his weight pinning her to the bed as his mouth sought hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. She parted her lips for him at once, stroking her tongue against his as he explored her mouth and sliding her fingers into his hair to hold him in place, determined that she wouldn't let him stop himself this time. Wanting to feel more of him, she arched her back, trying to close the distance she could still feel between them, and he groaned into her mouth, his arms going around her to pull her closer, his full body weight resting on her, and it felt wonderful to have him so close.

He lifted his mouth off hers for bare seconds to permit her to catch her breath before he was diving back in, their teeth clicking together as he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. It was messy and frantic and _real_, and Belle loved this show of how much he wanted her. Feeling the depth of his desire went a long way toward healing the wounds left by his weeks of restraint.

Her husband kissed her as though his life depended on it, as if she was more necessary to him than air. The little noises he was making against her lips were indescribably sweet, the sounds making her toes curl just as much as his drugging kisses. Belle drank little except for a glass of wine at Christmastime, and the feeling of her husband's mouth against hers made her feel just as light-headed and frothy inside. The kisses he'd given her before had pleased her, but this was a different kind of pleasure- darker and wilder- and she'd had no idea her body could feel so much. Some part of Belle thought she should be frightened by the overwhelming sensations that made it difficult to breathe or think or do anything but press herself closer to him, but it was her husband making her feel these things, and that made it so unequivocally good and right that there was no fear for her here.

Convinced that she'd won him over, she withdrew her fingers from his hair, her hands clinging to his shoulders as she tried not to let her nails scratch his bare skin. She smoothed his flesh with her palms, relishing his soft murmur of approval. Emboldened, she allowed her fingers to trail down the length of his spine, feeling the movement of smooth skin over each vertebra as he arched at her touch, his hips grinding against her as he grunted into her mouth.

She swallowed the sound and did it again, happy to have found a touch that pleased him. Then he was grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the mattress above her head as he pressed his hard length against her belly, and she could feel the heat of him even through his trousers. The books had never mentioned the heat, and Belle decided that was an unforgivable oversight because it left her unprepared for the way it made her shiver in reaction, her core seeming to melt as her body prepared itself for him.

As quickly as he'd pinned her down, he released her wrists, wrenching himself away from her, and Belle's entire body quivered with the shock of the loss, her eyes flying open to see him staring at her, his eyes wide and nearly feral, his chest heaving. His hair was tangled because she'd been running her fingers through it, and the overall picture he presented was that of an escapee from Bedlam. It was a _good_ look for him.

As she watched, he blinked rapidly, some sanity returning to his eyes, and he swallowed hard. Belle could almost see the doubts flitting through his mind, and she rolled onto her side, stretching her hands out to rest on his arm, feeling strangely calm despite the fact she still hadn't managed to catch her breath. "If you apologize," she said clearly, having to pause in the middle for another gasp of air, "I will hit you again."

He looked at her in astonishment, then laughed, some of the tension fleeing his body. Belle giggled, tugging him back toward her until he was lying on his side next to her, their faces inches apart. "I didn't hurt you?"

"_No_," she said without hesitation, leaning up to brush her lips against his.

"Not yet," he allowed, the mirth leaving his eyes. He sighed and reached out to brush a wayward curl behind her ear. "You deserve tenderness. To be treated like a princess."

Belle traced her fingers up his arm and cupped his shoulder, pulling him closer until their noses brushed. "This feels like tenderness to me."

His lips found hers, warm and nearly chaste, and he didn't pull away as he murmured, "I love you, Belle."

"And I love you too," she assured him, winding her arm around him to keep him close. "Why did you stop?"

"I was being rough, losing control," he sighed and looked down, tracing the leather cord of her necklace with one finger, "Proving that I can't be the man you deserve."

She slid her fingers into his hair and pulled none-too-gently, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Stop telling me what I deserve. Ask me what I want."

His fingers reached the apex of the cord and he stroked his fingers over the bridle ring, looking down at it in surprise. "Why did you want to keep this?"

It wasn't the question she'd wanted, but it would do. "Because you gave it to me. Because it reminds me of our wedding." She pulled her hand back to let him see the golden band around her finger. "This ring is beautiful, but I would have happily worn the original for the rest of my life."

He licked his lips nervously. "You deserved something better. Something _perfect_."

That statement seemed to be the crux of their problem, and Belle planned to make her point if she needed to pound it into his thick skull. "I don't care about perfect. I don't care about what I deserve. Ask me what I _want_."

His eyes were fixed on hers, something like fear in their depths. "What do you want, Belle?"

"_You_." She didn't blink, didn't look away, just willed him to hear her- _really_ hear her- and believe her. "I want _you_, just as you are. Everything that you are is enough for me, but I want _everything_ that you are. Even the parts that you think will frighten me. Because they don't. They never did. And it hurts me when you doubt yourself."

His eyes were glistening as he stared at her in what looked like a kind of awed wonder that humbled her. Belle pressed her advantage. "I love _you_. I want _you_. And if I had my pick of every man in the world, I would _still_ choose you."

She kissed him then, deep and long, a kiss that asked nothing and gave everything. She offered him her heart with that kiss, and she prayed that he would have the courage to accept it and treasure it, the way she did his.

* * *

Belle's lips moved against his in a kiss that felt like a benediction. Her tongue brushed his, velvety-soft, and there was no room for desire in what she was doing, because what she was giving him was so much _more_. He could feel her love pouring into his scarred, damaged soul, illuminating all the dark places with a warm steady glow of acceptance. Belle _loved_ him. For the first time he was able to believe those words. She knew all of it- _all of it_- and still she loved him. There had been nothing hidden, nothing secret in her eyes; out of every man she could have had, she'd chosen him for love, unworthy as he was.

He cradled her closer and returned her kiss, hoping she could feel the depth of his devotion to her as clearly as he could feel her love for him. Belle was his life, and the greatest mistake he'd made with her was in trying to hide it. He should have told her the moment he met her, thrown himself at her feet and given himself over to her mercy, trusting his goddess to take pity on him.

She stroked his hair like she could sense his thoughts, soothing him with her touch. If Belle found him worthy, what right did he have to argue? What could he do but try not to prove her wrong?

He could have spent the rest of his life in that moment with her mouth against his so tender and accepting that it made him shake, and they might well have kissed for hours; he was aware of nothing beyond the woman in his arms. Finally, however, Belle pulled away to catch her breath, staying willingly trapped in his embrace. Gold wasn't sure what expression he wore- awestruck, love-struck, _Belle-_struck- but whatever it was made her smile, her eyes so full of honest affection that he wondered how he could have ever missed it.

"That's better, isn't it?" she whispered, stroking her hand over his hair, "You believe me now."

He nodded mutely, beyond words, and she beamed. "Good." Leaning in, she kissed the tip of his nose, and he couldn't help his foolish grin at the affectionate gesture, wondering how he'd ever managed to live without her.

"You're mine now," she said softly, and his heart nearly stopped. No truer words had ever been spoken. He'd belonged to Belle, heart and soul, for nine years now, but never in his wildest dreams had he ever expected her to actually want to claim him. "I want you to make me yours. Make love to me, my husband."

His first instinct was to deny her. Just kissing her nearly set him mad, destroyed his self-control, and hurting her was too high a price to pay for sating his desire. Gold bit back the words at the look of serenity in Belle's eyes. She had no fear of him. He'd bitten her, pulled her hair, held her down, rubbed himself against her like an animal, and she'd never murmured a word of complaint.

'_It hurts me when you doubt yourself_.' She'd said that, and Belle had never lied to him. If he touched her, he might hurt her, but if he kept struggling against this, he would _definitely_ hurt her. Neither option was acceptable, but the first was the lesser of two evils. Doing things his way had led to nothing but her unhappiness and him getting punched in the face. He owed it to her to do as she wished.

Swallowing down his fear, he began, "If I hurt you-"

"You _won't_," she said at once, not giving him a chance to finish.

"I _might_," he overrode her, feeling a degree of pride that he was at least allowing for the possibility that he wouldn't. He was learning. Slowly, but of the two of them, Belle was the one with the brains. "If I do something you don't like, tell me. If I hurt you, _stop me_. By whatever means necessary."

Belle's eyes widened, and he pressed on, "I mean it, Belle. If you say stop, and I don't listen, hit me again. You know where to kick a man, don't you? I'll thank you for it." Gold didn't think even his ardor could overcome a knee to the groin, but the thought of giving her his pistol crossed his mind. She could keep it under the pillow, and use it if he got out of hand. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. The words 'Belle' and 'loaded gun' didn't belong in the same conversation, much less the same bed.

He held her gaze and willed her to agree, aware that he was breathing far harder than he should be, the thought of hurting his Belle making his heart pound sickeningly. If this didn't frighten her off the idea, nothing would. She breathed in sharply and nodded once, her eyes clear. "If you hurt me, I'll stop you," she told him, "But I won't need to."

Gold would take what he could get. She'd agreed, and at least he knew she wasn't afraid to throw a punch. He rested his forehead against hers and breathed, "Thank you."

She giggled, her breath warm against his lips. "No other man would thank me for promising to hit him."

"With your thumb outside your fist," he reminded her, reaching down to take her wrist, so he could pull her hand up between them. "Show me."

With an indulgent shake of her head, Belle made a fist for him, demonstrating she'd taken his lesson to heart. When he nodded in approval, she tapped him on the chin with it in a mock punch, and he snickered. "Stopping me already, love?"

"Encouraging you to finish what you started," she said, her blue eyes dancing playfully. She waved her fist in his face and threatened, "I'm not afraid to use this."

No, she wasn't. His Belle could hold her own, and that was the only thing that gave him the courage to attempt this. If he hurt her, she'd stop him. She'd promised. Batting her fist away, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and hauled her in for another kiss, loving the feeling of her fingers sliding into his hair. He'd always fantasized about playing with her chestnut curls, but he'd never imagined how wonderful it would feel to have her return the favor. Then again, it was Belle; she could probably have touched him _anywhere_ and transported him to a similar state of bliss.

He clung to his control as he kissed her, determined to find the places in her mouth that made her tremble in apology for his earlier frenzied possession of her. Belle was his wife. She loved him; she'd stay with him, and he could kiss her whenever he wanted for the rest of his life. This first time had to be for her.

She didn't make it easy for him when her sweet tongue caressed his, Belle happily doing everything she could to erode his self-restraint. Of course, she'd want to reciprocate. Why had he ever imagined otherwise? He swallowed a moan, and doubled his efforts, lavishing attention on every little sensitive spot he uncovered with all the ruthlessness he was infamous for. If he ran just the tip of his tongue over the roof of her mouth, he discovered she'd gasp and cling to him, and he made full use of the knowledge until they were plastered together in the middle of the bed, Belle's nails scratching lovingly against his scalp in a way that made him want to purr with contentment.

When he pulled away to let her breathe, Belle blinked at him, her blue eyes dazed with pleasure, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, and the thought that he'd made her look like that nearly undid him. He pressed trembling kisses to her throat in an effort to regain some control, reminding himself not to bite, not to hurt as her hands slowly swept over his back. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against her skin. "I love you so much, my little Belle."

Her nails bit into his shoulder at that, and the slight pain just emphasized how good the rest of it felt. Gold pushed her onto her back, keeping himself tight against her side. His hard cock was snug against the soft curve of her hip and that warmth and pressure was just enough to keep him from losing his mind as he strayed lower, kissing his way across her collarbone, lips seeking out every tempting bit of skin bared by her chemise.

Her fingers dove back into his hair, holding him in place as she arched her neck to grant him better access, and his control slipped a bit, kisses growing harder, more desperate as he sucked and nibbled just a little. This time when her breathy sob reached his ears, he knew it for the sound of her pleasure, and he echoed it with a moan of his own, the knowledge that he was pleasing his Belle almost more than he could take.

He tugged at the neckline of her chemise, trying to bare her shoulder, and a strange sensation washed over him, the feeling that they'd been here before. He lifted his head to look down at her, sucking in a deep breath to try to clear his head. "Have we... done this before?" he managed, hoping like hell he wasn't flashing back to a moment he'd spent with the whore.

Belle giggled, her eyes warm and tender. "The night you got shot. I took your shirt off, and you tried to return the favor."

There was nothing but amusement and affection in her look, so whatever he'd done clearly hadn't bothered her too much. "What did you do?"

"I said you had to marry me first. You seemed fine with the idea." She released him long enough to lift her hands to her chemise and undo the top few buttons, widening the neckline enough for him to accomplish his goal of freeing her shoulder,

Gold snorted, wishing he could remember the night better. "I bet I did. I should have run away with you that night."

"If you weren't busy bleeding to death, I might have let you," she shot back, coaxing his head back down so he could get back to what he'd been doing. Gold kissed every new bit of skin bared to his sight, then threaded her arm through her sleeve to free it from the fabric, tugging the chemise down more. Her breasts were still hidden from him, less of them on display than her blue dress showed, but all he had to do was open a few more buttons and he'd be able to see them. She'd let him.

The thought left him light-headed, and he resumed his ministrations to her shoulder, kissing downward until his nose was practically buried under her arm. Gold inhaled deeply, smelling roses and musk and heat and _Belle, _and nothing in the world could ever compare to this moment with his wife in his arms, inundating all of his senses.

Belle whimpered and squirmed as he rubbed his stubbled cheek against the very outer swell of her breast, her hip pressing harder against his cock, and he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply in order to retain control, trying to keep from rutting against her. Mouth dry, he pressed a kiss to her right breast through the thin fabric, and Belle made a breathy sound of pleasure that set his blood aflame. He cupped her breast in trembling fingers, squeezing gently, and she did it again. Risking a look upwards, his heart stuttered at the sight of her face- eyes closed, perspiration beading on her forehead- she looked like she was in pain, but pain had never sounded like _that_.

Lowering his head, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her breast, wondering how it was possible for _anything_ to be that warm and soft to the touch. The damp fabric molded itself to her skin, nearly transparent to his hungry eyes. Lost in a blissful haze, he closed his mouth over her nipple and sucked, and her cry rang through the cabin. Before Gold could even think of pulling away, her fingers were clutching at his head, keeping him where he was. He laved her nipple with his tongue, shuddering at the way it hardened for him.

He clutched her against him as he opened his mouth wider, trying to get more of her, then Belle's hands were on his shoulder, pushing him away. He jerked back, unable to stop the pathetic whimper he made at the loss of contact, wondering what he'd done. Whatever it was he wouldn't do it again as long as she let him touch her again. She _had_ to let him touch her again or he'd go mad.

There was no pain in her face, no fear, nothing but determination, and for a moment Gold was at a loss until he saw her fumble with the buttons of her chemise. "_Please_," she begged, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. She wasn't stopping him. Belle didn't want to stop; she wanted _more_.

"Yes," he growled, his hands helping hers with the tiny buttons. Neither of them were making any progress, and the urge to simply rip the damned thing off of her was overwhelming. Gold reminded himself that he wasn't a beast, but he'd never felt more primal than at that moment. His clumsy fingers fumbled with her buttons, then Belle batted him away and sat up, taking matters into her own hands as she reached down to grab the hem of her chemise and simply dragged it off over her head.

Pale skin. So much pale skin and soft curves and loveliness and she was so sweet and smooth and lush and compact and gorgeous and Belle and _his,_ and he didn't know where to touch first because every part of her was so, so, _so_...

"Anthony," her hand cupped his cheek gently, "Breathe."

He hadn't realized until that point that he'd stopped. He sucked in a breath, a choking death-rattle in his chest that made her beam like he'd composed her a sonnet. "You're so..." he didn't know how to finish that sentence. No word was strong enough to encompass her perfection. He fluttered his hands over her, not daring to actually touch.

"Thank you," she whispered, catching his wrists in her fingers to bring his hands back to her breasts. He cradled them, the sight of his unworthy hands against her perfect body stealing his breath again. His fingers were rough and clumsy, and he felt like he'd never touched a woman before. He'd never touched Belle before, and she was _everything_- his life, his world, his entire fucking _universe_- and she was smiling and sighing and arching into his hands, and somehow he knew what to do.

Lowering his head, he painted her breasts with worshipful kisses, using his lips and tongue to bring her as much pleasure as he could, trying to inspire more of those sweet little gasps and sighs. He licked her dainty pink nipples, the contrast between the tight buds and the softness of her breasts the most exciting thing he'd ever experienced.

He let his hands move lower, stroking over her stomach and sides, finding her as warm and smooth and wonderful everywhere, but he couldn't tear his mouth away from her breasts. Dimly, he wondered if he'd ever be able to, if he'd ever be able to get enough of her. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the answer was no. Just this was enough for him, more than enough. That she was letting him do this was the answer to every prayer he'd ever said.

Then she caught his face in her hands and lifted him away from her breasts for a proper kiss, her tongue sliding against his, and Gold was thankful he'd already learned which places she liked because he was too far gone for experimentation right now. Everything bled together in a delicious fog of pleasure, and he just wanted to do more, to give her _more_, but she was gently pushing him away.

Belle rested her hand against the side of his face and kissed his nose, her eyes softening at his look of dismay. "Hush. It's my turn."

Gold wasn't thinking much, operating purely on instinct and the drive to please and worship his wife, and it took him a moment to register what she'd said. Then her soft lips were moving over his chest, and her hands were stroking his arms, and he forgot how to breathe again.

When her hands reached his, he laced their fingers together, clinging to her for dear life as her lips explored him. If her earlier kisses had been a benediction, these were torture, the sweetest pain he'd ever known. Every touch inflamed him more to the point where Gold didn't even know how he was managing to sit upright, other than that moving- even to collapse- was simply too much effort. Then Belle dragged the flat of her tongue over his nipple, and he released his grip on her hands in favor of her hair, not sure if he wanted to hold her in place or yank her away.

She did it again, then traced a circle with the tip of her tongue, and his cock throbbed. Gold was harder than he'd ever been before in his life, straining against his trousers, and his hips jerked shamelessly, begging for her touch- her hand, her body, _anything_- before he lost his mind.

He sat up on his knees and pulled her up with him, filling his hands with her behind as he yanked her against him, groaning in relief at the pressure. His cock twitched eagerly against her belly, and he squeezed her ass, urging her closer. There was so much of her left to explore, so many places he hadn't kissed yet, hadn't touched, and this wasn't the way he'd wanted it to be, but he was painfully hard and if he didn't have her _now_, he was going to explode. "Belle, _please_..." he groaned, a pathetic, broken sound, then he was taking her mouth in a frantic kiss, trying to show her how much he needed her.

She petted his hair as he ravaged her, and even that soothing touch just worked him up more. "Yes," she whispered against his lips as soon as he stopped long enough to let her speak. Belle nodded, her eyes dark with passion and unafraid. "Yes," she repeated, pulling herself out of his arms and moving closer to the headboard, resting there on her hands and knees as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

In that position, he could see _everything_, and how did she even _know_ to do that-

_Oh_.

Some sanity returned and he managed to form actual words, "What- what are you doing?"

Belle bit her lip, looking at him in confusion. "Isn't this what you like?"

His erection flagged a bit as the sheer enormity of what he'd done finally hit him. '_Stupid bastard. You __**fucking**__ idiot. You miserable, unfaithful, unworthy_ _**animal**_.' He sat down hard on his arse and held his arms out to her pleadingly, sighing in relief when she crawled into them, little as he deserved her embrace. Gold held her close, resting his cheek against her hair as he fought the urge to sob. "No," he finally answered, his voice shaking, "That's not what I like."

"But-" she started, and he pressed her face against his neck, unable to bear hearing her say more.

"She didn't look like you. Just her hair. All I wanted to see was her hair, otherwise I couldn't... I couldn't..." He ground his teeth, struggling for control.

"Pretend she was me," Belle finished for him, and he nodded, the shame choking him.

Her arms tightened around him. "And you always pretended she was me? That it was me you were-"

"Fucking," he said bluntly. He shouldn't use that word in front of her, but no other description was accurate. No matter how hard he'd tried to pretend otherwise, what he'd done with the whore had never been anything but soulless, meaningless, unsatisfying fucking.

"Every time," he answered her unfinished question. "Every time for _years_. I'm so _sorry_, Belle."

Gentle lips pressed a kiss to his throat. "I forgive you."

He shuddered. "It was wrong."

"And you're sorry." Another kiss followed, then another. "It's in the past. You'll never do it again. I forgive you."

Gold crushed her against him, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Never again," he repeated his promise, his voice thick.

She let him hold her until he stopped shaking, then she carefully pulled herself out of his arms to kneel beside him, her feet tucked neatly beneath her rear. "Then it's over. You can let it go now," she said encouragingly, nodding at him, and he gaped at her. The concept of simply dismissing something like that, of just not thinking about it anymore, was so foreign his wife might as well have been speaking another language. Yet, she made it sound so easy.

He licked his lips and offered "I'll try?" wishing he sounded more confident. Belle beamed at him like he'd done something wonderful.

"All right," she clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them, a blush coloring her cheeks in the most fetching way, "I know what... fucking looks like. I want you to teach me what lovemaking is."

She stumbled over the filthy word like she was having trouble forcing it out, and there was no earthly reason hearing that word from her lips should be so erotic, but somehow it was. Then he heard her request and the fierce surge of arousal gentled and deepened, filling his entire body with a deep, aching need to be near his wife. She wanted him to make love to her.

"Yes, love," he rasped, his throat dry and tight. "Yes."

He beckoned her to lie down, making certain her head was comfortably on the pillows. For endless minutes, he just kissed her, hovering over her and careful not to let his lower body come in contact with her. For the first time, he felt some actual confidence that he could do this properly, and Gold would let nothing interfere with that, especially his own selfish needs.

Once she was breathless and moaning, he moved lower, kissing his way down her throat as he let his hand roam her body with light, gentle touches. Belle shivered and arched when he found a spot she liked, and he made mental notes of those places, loving how responsive she was, how she came alive at his touch.

He rained kisses over her upper body, lavishing her breasts with attention and grinning mindlessly against her when she giggled at the gentle rasp of his stubbled cheek against her delicate skin. Letting his chin rest in the hollow between her breasts, he gazed up at her, marveling yet again that this astonishing creature had deigned to be his. "I love you," he murmured, and his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure as she said it back.

Belle stroked his hair as he continued to explore, licking along the soft line of her hip and nibbling his way down her leg to wreathe her ankle in kisses before devoting himself to worshiping her dainty feet. He smoothed his hands up her legs, feeling the play of muscles she was developing from their daily riding lessons, and this tactile proof of her strength soothed his nerves. Belle was no fragile flower, and he was paying her no compliment in treating her as such. She was a strong and capable woman, and he needed to remember that.

Eagerly, he kissed his way back up, his mouth watering at the thought of his destination. It had been decades since he'd done this, and he'd always considered it a bit of a chore, but to do it for Belle- to touch her, _taste_ her- it would be the culmination of nine years of frustrated fantasies.

Her fingers tangled in his hair again as he pressed a kiss to her soft nest of curls, breathing in deeply to take in as much of her intoxicating scent as he could. He nuzzled at the seam where her thighs were pressed together, feeling her shudder as he traced his tongue over the spot, encouraging her to open for him. She made a breathy little noise but just pressed her thighs together harder. "It's all right, love," he crooned, dotting kisses over her thighs, her curls, her lovely hips, "It won't hurt, I promise. It'll feel so good. Just open your legs, and let me love you."

He placed a lingering kiss to her curls, then her fingers were tugging on his hair, pulling him away from her. Startled, he looked up to see her face flushed nearly beet-red, her bottom lip caught hard between her teeth. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

Gold surged up to pull her into his arms, Belle burying her hot face against his neck. Ashamed of himself, he stroked her hair in what he hoped was a soothing way. "I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry. It's all right. If you don't want to, we won't. We can stop right now if you want to."

She made a muffled noise against his skin, and he moaned, cursing himself for making her cry. He'd been selfish, rushed her, and an experience that should have brought her nothing but joy had been tainted by his impatience. Belle pulled away to look at him, and he blinked at the sight of her dry face, her color still heightened, but returning to normal. She was... laughing?

"See?" she said, her eyes dancing, "I told you that you'd stop if I asked you to."

He stared at her in disbelief for a second, then his laughter joined hers, because it actually was pretty damned funny. In the future, he should just assume his wife was right about everything, because apparently she was. She snuggled closer to him as their laughter died away, and he kissed the crown of her head. "Should we stop?"

Belle shook her head immediately, which did wonders for his ego. "I don't want to stop. Just not... not..."

"That," he finished for her, "You don't want that. That's fine." He shoved the disappointment away and went back to caressing her, hoping to regain the ground he'd lost.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be," he said fiercely, wishing she hadn't thought it necessary to say that. "All that matters is that you like it."

She lifted her head for a kiss, whispering against his lips, "I do," and he shivered.

"How about this instead?" he offered, coaxing her to wrap her leg around his as he ran his fingers through her damp curls. Belle made a startled noise against his lips, and Gold didn't move, waiting for her to tell him yes or no.

A moment later he felt her hesitant nod, and he slowly moved lower, just running the tips of his fingers over her most private place, barely touching at all until she lifted her knee a little higher in unspoken invitation. He pressed deeper, his fingers breaching her folds for the first time and a flood of moisture greeted him, making him tremble as his cock throbbed at this tangible evidence that his little Belle truly desired him. She gasped, and he drank the noise from her lips as he explored as slowly and gently as he could.

In and out, over and around, Gold sought the places that made his Belle moan, returning to them again and again as she pressed herself against him, her breath coming in breathless little sobs. Hesitantly, he slid one finger into her, groaning at her tight heat. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crooked his finger, wanting to learn every bit of her.

Belle was panting, rubbing herself against him like a cat as he explored her depths, and nothing in his life had ever been half so arousing as her artless movements. A second finger joined the first, bringing her pleasure even as he prepared her for what would come later. She keened, her voice high and a little panicky, and he soothed her. "It's supposed to feel good, love. Let it feel good. Tell me if it doesn't."

The way she dragged his mouth to hers for another kiss was all the answer he needed. Gold kept going, letting his thumb rest on that tiny bud hidden between her legs, and she bucked against him, crying out into his mouth. "That's right, that's right," he gasped against her lips, barely aware of what he was saying, sliding a third finger into her and gently pressing with his thumb, "Let it happen, Belle, don't fight it. Do what feels good. I've got you."

He wrapped his free arm around her as tightly as possible, hoping she'd find comfort in the embrace as she moved frantically against him, teaching him how to please her. She hid her face against his neck, muffling her cries as he worked her higher, murmuring words of encouragement until her entire body tensed for a long, terrifying moment, then she was coming apart in his arms her nails clawing at his back as she sobbed her pleasure.

Matching his breath to hers, Gold eased her through it with careful movements of his hand, prolonging her pleasure as much as he could until she reached down to grab his wrist and still him. "Too much," she gasped, and he stopped at once, holding her tighter and feeling the way her inner muscles rippled around his fingers.

When she finally looked up at him what could have been seconds or hours later, her eyes were sparkling. "That's lovemaking?"

He chuckled, relieved to see her spirit was unbowed even if her innocence was slightly tarnished. "Like it?"

She yanked him into an enthusiastic kiss that made her answer very clear. "I don't see how married people ever get anything done."

At that he laughed outright, easing his fingers out of her as carefully as he could, pleased when she didn't wince. He glanced down at his hand, and the temptation was too great to resist. He had to know what she tasted like, even if she wouldn't let him use his mouth on her. Sucking his fingers into his mouth, he groaned at her musky flavor, his tongue greedily searching out every last drop.

Belle's eyes fluttered when he did that, a moan stuttering out of her chest. "It... it tastes good?" she asked doubtfully. His cock twitched as he sucked every trace of her off his fingers, reluctantly pulling them out of his mouth when he was sure he hadn't missed a bit.

"It tastes like you," he answered, his voice dark, "And there's _nothing_ about you I don't love."

She nodded, wide-eyed, and bit her lip. "Maybe... next time?" she offered shyly.

"Thank you," he breathed, as grateful for the promise that there would _be_ a next time as he was for her generous offer. Her fingers trailed over his waistband, dipping just underneath to touch his bare skin, and Gold groaned.

"Can we?" she asked, her face alight with hope, and this woman was going to be the death of him.

Nodding wordlessly, Gold rolled off the bed, standing on shaky legs as Belle moved to sit on the edge of the bed, watching avidly as he unfastened his trousers, kicking them away as they slid down his legs. He wasn't sure which reaction would be worse: fear, revulsion, or laughter, but he got none of those three. Belle just gazed at him for what felt like hours until a slow smile of approval crossed her face. He shuddered.

Her position gave him an idea, and he moved to kneel between her feet, looking up at her in worship. If he took her like this, she'd have some control over their coupling, and the pain in his knee would serve as ballast, giving him some hope of lasting. He kissed her knees, her thighs, her breasts, working his way toward her mouth until he was sitting up on his knees, the height of the bed aligning him perfectly with her core. Coaxing her forward until she was poised on the very edge, he pressed his hips forward, letting her feel him against her.

He took her mouth hard, swallowing her gasp as he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, showing her what he longed to do with the other part of him. She was so, _so_ hot, her body deliciously ready for him. He just had to be sure her mind was as prepared.

With an effort he tore his mouth off of hers, breathing hard against her lips. "Is this all right, love? Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said firmly, leaving no room for doubt or misinterpretation. Her color was high, but there wasn't a trace of fear in her face. Gold leaned in to kiss her again as he took himself in hand and carefully pressed his hips forward, easing just the head into her.

They broke apart with a gasp, eyes locked as their bodies joined for the first time. "Are you-?"

"Keep going," she demanded, her hand cradling his jaw as she pulled his head down until their foreheads rested against each other, their noses bumping.

Gold reminded himself to be gentle, careful, but there was no pain in Belle's eyes as he pressed deeper. He stole tiny kisses, never looking away from her as he slowly sheathed himself. She was so blissfully, hellishly tight around him that it seemed impossible he wasn't hurting her, but there was nothing in her eyes but welcome.

She flinched once when he was a little over halfway there, but before he could even move her face cleared and she murmured, "Don't stop."

He was breathing like he was dying, struggling to stay in control, to not just shove himself into her. Being inside Belle was like entering the gates of Paradise, and no substitute could ever come close. What a fool he'd been. He eased his way deeper with gentle thrusts, grunting when he realized he was in her to the hilt. He was buried in his little Belle, and she was still smiling at him, her eyes filled with wonder.

"Are you all right?" he had to ask even though he already knew the answer.

"I'm perfect," she smiled, leaning closer for a tender kiss. "I'm your wife now."

"You always were," he murmured. He'd committed himself to her nine years ago, and even if she'd never known, it would have changed nothing. Belle had _always_ been his wife.

His mouth found hers again, muffling her sighs as he started to move in tiny increments, just rocking against her as he made sure she was truly used to him, that he wasn't causing her pain. When she closed her lips around his tongue to suck and wrapped her legs around his hips, Gold took the hint and pulled out a little more- long, easy glides in and out- nothing forceful, nothing rushed, and he shifted his weight onto his bad knee, needing the pain as a distraction, because nothing in the world had prepared him for what it would be like to be this close to his Belle, and his blood was already boiling in his veins.

He ran his hands over her back, trying to feel all of her at once, and she arched into him, letting him slide a little deeper. His mouth slid clumsily off hers as he cried out, helplessly pressing her back onto the bed, his hips jerking as the angle became awkward. Belle whimpered, and tugged at his arm, trying to draw him up onto the bed with her, and he gave up.

With a tortured groan, he pulled out of her, barely noticing the pain in his knee as he stood, then crawled onto the bed to join her. They were too busy kissing to manage any kind of communication, but with a combination of luck and stubbornness, he got her head resting against the pillows before he wound up on top of her, her legs already parted to welcome him.

One long thrust brought him home again, and Belle wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping him flush against her as he started to move. Vaguely, he worried that he was crushing her, but she wasn't letting go, rocking her hips up to meet his every thrust as he found his rhythm, deep and slow and a little rough which she seemed to enthusiastically approve of if the cries she was muffling against his mouth were any indication.

He wasn't going to last. There was no way, not with Belle wrapped around him, taking everything he gave her and begging for more. Not with her nails digging into his shoulders, and her feet pressed against his lower back, holding him against her like she was afraid he'd try to get away. Not when he was inside his wife for the first time with nine years of pent-up longing at his back. Already his pace was quickening,

Desperately, he snaked a hand between their bodies, searching for the place he'd discovered before. He sat back on his knees a little bit to give himself more room, changing the angle of his thrusts, and Belle cried out, her nails dragging down his back. Gold didn't have a clue what he'd done, but he wasn't about to argue. He maintained the angle, driving himself into her as his fingers found the taut bud and rubbed mercilessly.

Belle screamed like he was killing her, then she was trembling and pulling him closer as her inner walls fluttered around him, and he was following her over that precipice, thrusting desperately in an effort to prolong her pleasure even as his own stole his sanity. It hit him with the force of a steam train, then he was crushing his mouth against hers, and his body was shaking and he was crying out to his Belle, his little Belle.

When he came back to himself, he was still sprawled on top of her, and Belle was stroking his hair, her mouth moving against his temple. With an effort he managed to lift his head off her breast, gazing down at her in wonder. "Belle..."

"Don't apologize," she chided, one eyebrow raised teasingly.

She was fine. _They_ were fine. He'd made love to her and lost control like he knew he would, and he hadn't hurt her. She'd _liked_ it. Gold winged a quick prayer heavenward, offering thanks for this angel in his arms, and collapsed back onto her. "Wouldn't dream of it, love.


	9. Chapter 9

Belle stroked her husband's hair, smiling senselessly down at his boneless form. He was sprawled across her body like a lapcat, looking more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, the ever-present tension in his body having fled like it had never been there at all. In that moment, she half-expected him to start purring, and the mental image made her bite her lip to stifle her giggle. She couldn't blame him. If Belle could purr, she would.

She'd always thought the word lovemaking was a pretty euphemism, but her husband had shown her that nothing could be further from the truth. Belle had never felt more love than when he'd been inside of her, desperate and helpless in her arms, and she'd never felt more loved than when he was touching her, his harsh breath and dark eyes showing her without words just how much he valued her. He'd been so sweetly worried about hurting her, but even at the end when he'd been rough she'd felt nothing but joy that she could excite him so.

While she'd read things and heard gossip, nothing could have prepared her for the pleasure or the overwhelming emotions that had cascaded through her body, stealing her ability even to think. The mere memory made her blush, and she thought back to her own statement that she couldn't imagine how married people got anything done. Just lying in bed with her husband was a delight, and when the merest brush of his hand made her shiver, the thought of pulling away seemed impossible. Yet the sun was well up by this point and she did have wifely duties. "Are you hungry?"

He stirred in her arms, rolling onto his side and pulling her with him, her leg draped over his hip to hold him inside of her. Belle had been surprised by how easy it was. She'd expected more pain, but her body had welcomed him like he was a missing part of her. In truth, that was exactly what he felt like.

"Ravenous," he growled, burying his face against her throat to kiss her there, and she sighed, pressing closer. No matter how many times he did that, it still made her weak with delight to have her fantasy come true. "I love you, my Belle," he murmured in her ear, and she sobbed, pulling him closer to her.

His words soothed the places in her that still felt fragile from the weeks they'd spent dancing around each other- married but not. Although she'd forgiven him the moment she realized what he'd been thinking, her heart still felt a bit bruised. When he said he loved her, when he touched her with such passion, those bruises stopped aching, and Belle knew that soon they'd stop hurting all together. Someday they'd be able to laugh at the misunderstanding just as they did at the memory of her punching him. Not soon, she didn't think, but someday.

While Belle had known the pain of unrequited love for a month, he'd been enduring it for nine years, and she could only imagine how deep his own wounds ran. How she wished he'd told her sooner. But then, what would have happened if he'd come to her door, hat in hand, asking permission to court her? Her father never would have permitted him near her, and Belle herself would scarcely have known what to think. Perhaps things had to progress the way they did. They might not have found their happiness if they'd done things differently.

Even so, there was no reason not to make a start at healing those wounds now. "I love you, Anthony, so very much," she said as clearly as she could with him nuzzling at her neck, hoping he could hear the sincerity in her voice.

He stilled, and she whimpered as she felt him hardening within her again. Then his mouth was on hers, kissing her so intently that it brought tears to her eyes. Stroking his back, she returned the kiss as well as she was able, trying to offer him as much pleasure as he did her. If he needed those words, she'd say them a hundred times a day, she vowed.

This time when he took her it was long and slow, and the gradual build up of tension was almost more than Belle could bear as he teased her with gentle touches and deep thrusts, feeling like he was touching every part of her at once. Having him inside of her was wonderful physically, but nothing had prepared her for what having him so close would do to her emotionally. At the height of his thrusts, when he was buried inside of her and gazing into her eyes, his lips teasing her with drugging kisses and soft nips, Belle felt that they were almost one person. That was when she truly knew what it was to be a wife, to belong completely and utterly to her husband and to have him belong to her. They were part of each other now, and she'd never be alone again.

The sheer beauty of it made her cry even as the pleasure overwhelmed her, and warm lips kissed away her tears as he held himself still inside of her. "Belle, love?" he whispered, voice fraught, and she shook her head, beaming up at him through her tears.

"I'm just happy," she assured him, and he nodded, his own eyes suspiciously bright. Now that she'd found her satisfaction she was able to give her attention to his, stroking his back and whispering words of love as he trembled in her embrace, his face pained as his movements grew frantic. He was completely vulnerable in her arms, and it was an honor to have him trust her so. Belle vowed to herself again that she'd do everything in her power to shield him from any further suffering.

Fortunately, the only pain he seemed to be in danger of was starvation. Belle couldn't bear to pull herself away from her husband, and even if she'd wanted to, he was showing no interest in letting go of her. The sun was nearly to the horizon before they managed to get out of bed at all, and that was due mostly to the fact that the horses wouldn't care for themselves.

It was the first day in weeks she hadn't ridden Dulcinea, but any thought of guilt flew out of her mind as her husband vowed against her lips, "I'll be right back" before kissing her like he was leaving on a month's journey, not going to the barn. Belle watched shamelessly as he slipped his trousers back on, the fabric riding low on his hips as he left her lying on the bed. She snuggled into the pillows, beaming up at the ceiling and feeling warm and a little sore and very well-loved.

She was hungry as well, and she pulled her chemise over her head as she went to find them something to eat, deciding that the bread she'd baked two days ago and the raspberry jam she'd bought in town the previous day would do well enough. The teapot was still full of the stewed tea they'd never gotten around to drinking the night before, and Belle made a face before casting it into the yard, curious about the noises she could hear coming from the barn.

She'd just put the kettle on and was considering going to investigate when arms came around her from behind, cuddling her close, and Belle relaxed back into her husband's embrace, tilting her face up to kiss his jaw. He made a quiet, pleased sound at her action, and Belle's heart lifted at the thought that she could touch him whenever she wanted to now; he wouldn't push her away.

Indeed, he couldn't seem to get close enough to her, pulling her down onto his lap at the table and feeding her from his own hands. "I should probably let you eat in peace," he said a little ruefully, licking a smudge of jam from the corner of her mouth.

"And why would you want to do that?" she challenged, smiling at the way his eyes lit up. If they did more kissing than eating, Belle decided that was understandable. They had two weeks of married life to catch up on after all.

Once they'd finished their meal, he placed her on her feet long enough to stand up himself, then eased her down into the chair he'd vacated. "Close your eyes and keep them closed," he admonished, waiting until she'd obeyed to kiss the tip of her nose, "I have something for you."

For long moments there was nothing but silence, then the cabin was filled with a series of scrapes and thumps that made it well-nigh impossible for her not to look. Finally, her husband's hands claimed hers, and he pulled her up, guiding her towards the fireplace. Placing himself behind her, his arms around her waist, he murmured into her ear. "You can open them."

Her breath caught at the sight of the rocking chair. She'd owned lovely things when her father had still been a doctor, but nothing had ever been as exquisite as this. The wood was polished to a sheen, the back and arms carved with trailing vines of roses more detailed than Belle had ever imagined possible. "It's beautiful," she whispered reverently, and he nudged her toward it. With trembling fingers she traced the roses along the back, recognizing the long curves of wood he'd been carving in the evenings as she read to him.

"You made this?" she breathed, overwhelmed by the care he'd taken with it. Looking closer, she realized that every rose was slightly different, some in full bloom, others buds, and each one spoke wordlessly of love and devotion.

She tore her attention from the chair to look at her husband, who was gazing at her as if she'd given him the gift. "For you," he nodded, his eyes bright, "Try it out."

Carefully, she eased herself down onto the blue silk cushion that graced the seat, half afraid she'd somehow damage it. Instead, the chair embraced her like a lover, and she relaxed back with a sigh, the curves fitting her body exactly. "It's wonderful," she managed, wishing there were grander words in the world than 'thank you' because that didn't feel like nearly enough.

Her husband seemed delighted with her reaction, moving to sit at her feet as she rocked, the chair moving soundlessly, so perfectly balanced that it didn't even creak. She stopped when he rested his head against her knee, reaching down to card her fingers through his hair. "Thank you so much. I love it. I love _you_."

He sighed, reaching up to catch her hand and bring it to his lips. "It gave me something to do at night."

The thought of when he'd found time to work on it hadn't crossed Belle's mind. "_That's_ what you've been doing in the barn?"

He chuckled, nibbling at each of her fingers in turn. "Well, I certainly wasn't sleeping. Not with you so close."

Torn between guilt and amusement, Belle settled for teasing him lightly, "I was in a different _building_."

"In my bed," he propped his chin on her knee, looking up at her with dark eyes, "Wearing my ring. You expected me to be able to _sleep_? I couldn't even close my eyes without seeing you in here. I'd dreamt about it for so long, and then it was all real. It was all I could do not to sneak in just so I could look at you."

"You thought about being married to me?" she asked, charmed by the concept. While he'd confessed to thinking about her, she'd been under the impression most of his thoughts had been slightly more... carnal. The idea that he'd fantasized about something as innocent as watching her sleep warmed her.

"Every time I've walked into this cabin for nine years, I've imagined you'd be here," he admitted, his voice slightly rough. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her knee through her cotton shift. "And now you are."

"I always will be," she promised, leaning down for a proper kiss. For long minutes they explored each other, until Belle felt dizzy from lack of air and him and had to break away. With a sigh, he rested his head in her lap, his arms loosely around her waist.

"Promise you won't leave, Belle," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the folds of her chemise.

"I promise," she said, her heart cracking at his words. Bending down, she curled herself around him and pressed a kiss to his hair. "I will stay with you forever. I love you."

His grip on her was almost painfully tight, then he loosened his hold, sitting back so that he could look up at her. "I'm sorry," he sighed, "It's still too good to be true."

"I think you deserve some goodness after everything," she told him. After all that he'd told her, no one deserved happiness more than her husband, and if that happiness meant her, she'd consider herself the most fortunate of women. "You won't get rid of me unless you send me away."

"Never," he said simply, the word definite.

"Even if it's for my own good?" she pressed, thinking back to the way he'd tried to warn her off him with the possibility of enemies from his past wanting to harm her. While the thought of being a target didn't please her, it also held no real fear. If anything ever happened, he'd protect her. There wasn't a doubt in Belle's mind about that. The only thing she had to worry about was that one day he might decide she'd be better off without him. While she couldn't imagine him allowing her to be harmed in any way, she could easily see the man who'd spent the first two weeks of his marriage sleeping in a barn so as not to offend her with his presence deciding to sacrifice his own happiness for her safety.

He inhaled, inclining his head in recognition that he'd been fairly trapped. "If you're in danger-" he began, but Belle didn't let him finish.

"If I'm in danger, I'll need you more than ever," she pointed out, "Nowhere in the world is safer for me than with you."

"I hope you're right," he breathed, and she quirked her eyebrows.

"Aren't I always?" That earned her a laugh and another kiss, his hands threading through her hair to pull her down to him.

"That you are, love," he admitted, adoration written clearly on his face.

"Then I promise not to leave, and you promise not to send me away," she challenged, and at his aggrieved look, she knew she'd won.

"I promise." He held her gaze as he said the words, and the deal was struck. Belle knew her husband well enough to know that he'd never go back on his word, especially if he'd given it to her. "I love you," he said hesitantly, as if not certain she'd want to hear the words.

Belle was careful not to hide any bit of how those words made her feel, letting him see the happiness they brought her. "I love you too."

He ducked his head, pressing a kiss to her knee. "You might get tired of hearing that from me."

"I think that's very unlikely," she informed him, reaching to rub the back of his neck before teasing, "Unless you're getting bored hearing it from me."

He chuckled, but there was something desperate in it. "You can't say it enough for me."

Smiling tenderly, Belle accepted the challenge. "I love you," she murmured, carding her fingers through his hair as he muffled a sob, his lips pressed ardently to her knee. "I love you. I _love_ you."

Again and again she crooned the words as he kissed every part of her he could reach from his position at her feet, slowly drawing up the hem of her chemise so he could touch bare skin. His fingers were gentle, barely grazing her, and he stole glances up at her, his face alight with worship. His tenderness warmed her heart, but Belle didn't want a suppliant; she wanted a husband.

"I won't break," she promised, and he shivered, his hands tightening on her calves as he moved higher, his stubbled chin grazing her thighs as his kisses grew more ardent.

She shifted in her seat, heat curling through her mingled with embarrassment as he moved closer to her lap. He'd wanted to kiss her there earlier, and she'd been too mortified to countenance it, no book she'd ever read preparing her for the idea. That had been before she'd realized what pleasure his fingers could bring her by touching that place, and his kisses had felt so good on every other part of her that she could only imagine what a kiss to that part of her would feel like.

Still the thought of having him so close to her most private place was shocking. It seemed that it should be disgusting for him to put his mouth there or at least unsanitary, but the look on his face when he licked her off his fingers said otherwise. This was something he wanted to do, and there was no point in telling him that she trusted him if she wasn't willing to prove it.

Taking a deep breath, Belle parted her thighs for him, and he groaned, sweat beading on his forehead as he moved closer, inhaling like he was trying to breathe her in. "Belle, love," he whispered, and she smiled despite her flaming face as he looked up at her, "If you don't want to, we won't. I'd never force you."

It was knowing he spoke the truth that made it possible for her to agree. "I want to," she said softly, wishing she sounded more confident. She wasn't lying; she did want to if only because he seemed to want it so much.

"If you change your mind-" he started, and her lips quirked.

"I'll stop you," she promised, and he nodded, appeased. She brushed her fingers over his cheek, a sense of pride briefly overwhelming all other emotions when he didn't insist that she be ready to strike him. He trusted himself to stop now if she asked, and that was a giant step forward. Hopefully he'd soon trust himself not to hurt her at all.

With careful hands he pushed up her chemise, baring her to his sight, and she lifted her hips to help as much as she could. He pressed tender kisses to her inner thighs, as gentle as the brush of a butterfly's wings, but the instinct to close her legs was still overwhelming. Instead, she took hold of the chair's arms and squeezed, trying to keep her tension limited to her hands. She was far more nervous about this than she'd ever been about having him take her, a fact she attributed to the newness of the idea. Before she'd known what to expect, but this act was a mystery.

Ever so slowly, he moved closer to that part of her that had brought both of them so much pleasure, and Belle breathed deeply and slowly, focusing on his expression. His eyes were dazed, his face slack with wonder and love and desire, and anything that made him look like that had to be good. It was worth her own discomfort to please him so.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pressed a kiss to the nest of curls between her legs, and Belle bit her lip, unsure how she felt about having his face there. He sighed when she didn't push him away as she had earlier, and that decided her. She was his wife, and she'd hold no part of herself back, not if he wanted it. Moving in her seat, she scooted her hips forward so she could part her legs more, welcoming him.

"God, Belle..." he groaned, sounding as desperate as he'd been when he was inside of her. Clutching her knees, he kissed her again and then again, working his way lower, his lips ghosting over her. The sensation made her feel squirmy and fluttery, both too hot and too cold at the same time. Between her legs, he was breathing harder than she was, his face flushed darkly. For an eternity, he just kissed her, soft little kisses that slowly relaxed her even as her stomach fluttered.

Finally, she was able to relax her hold on the arms of the chair, one hand stealing into his hair, and he moaned at the touch. Then his tongue breeched her folds and lightning shot through her, her entire body jerking. "Belle?" He looked up at her, eyes dark with desire and concern.

Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, the sheer intensity of the sensation giving her pause. Another part of her wanted to grab his head and force him back down so he could finish what he'd started. She settled for a nod, unable to catch her breath as she panted out, "Keep going."

With a relieved smile he did just that, and his long, slow licks made her quiver, her hand clutching too hard at his hair, but he didn't seem to mind. Unable to hold her head up, she let it fall back on her shoulders, a litany of gasps and moans falling from her lips as he took hold of her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth. It seemed to go on for hours, the sensations that had been so sharp at first melding into a blissful pleasure that made her arch into him like a cat.

Then his tongue found a place that nearly sent her flying out of her seat, the chair rocking back dangerously as he gripped her tighter, keeping her safe. He stayed on that place, teasing her with short, sharp licks as she keened, feeling like her body was on the verge of coming apart. He murmured something into her that she couldn't understand, then his lips closed over her, and he was sucking, and she was _flying_.

When she finally came back to herself, she was lying on the floor, held safe in her husband's arms as his lips moved over her face in tender little kisses. "Are you all right, love?" he asked when he saw her eyes were open, and for once in her life, Belle was beyond words. She draped her arm around his neck, dragging him down for a kiss that let her taste something new on his lips. A moment later she realized what it was, and she moaned at the taste of herself on him, her head falling back to hit the floor with a thump. "Belle?"

He sounded truly worried now, and she weakly waved her fist at him. "Don't... apologize."

A relieved snicker greeted her words, then he was kissing her again, deep and sweet, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her hip. Granny Lucas's words came back to her- _Whatever feels good to you will feel good to him_- and she shivered at the thought of giving her husband the kind of pleasure he'd just given her.

Feeling a bit more clear-headed, she sat up, her hands going to the fastenings of his trousers, and he helped her eagerly, pausing only long enough to ask, "Do you want to go back to bed?"

The bed seemed too far away at that point, and Belle helped him remove his trousers, mouth drying as she got her first good look at his aroused form. "Too much trouble," she dismissed, reaching out a trembling hand to touch.

Shyness overwhelmed her, and she caressed his chest instead, feeling his stomach quiver at her touch. He reached for her and she evaded his hands, wanting to give back some of the pleasure she'd taken from him. "Lie back."

With a shuddering groan, he did as she commanded, and she could see his... see him- _erection_ her mind filled in from one of the medical books- twitching as she stroked her hands down his chest, her fingertips finding his nipples and feeling them harden at her touch.

It seemed to please him as he moved restlessly under her, soft moans escaping his lips. "Oh, Belle..." he murmured, and when she leaned down to kiss one, he groaned like she was torturing him.

Emboldened by his response, she sat back, watching his reactions as she let her hand stray lower. She stroked over his stomach and along his flanks, and he made a smothered, frantic little noise, his hips twitching before he stilled, shaking like he was forcing himself not to move.

He was quivering beneath her, his eyes dazed as she brushed just her fingertips over his erection, feeling how hot he was there. "_Belle_!" Surprised that such a simple touch could affect him so, she did it again, exploring him. The skin was incredibly soft and smooth, which surprised her. She'd been expecting hardness everywhere, but that seemed to be all on the inside.

She stroked downward, trailing her fingers through the hair she found at the base of him, just as dark as the hair on his head, but coarser, like her own nether curls. Moving lower, she found a part of him that was even softer, and she rolled it in her palm, feeling it draw tighter to his body at her touch. Belle's brow furrowed as she thought back on the medical books, struggling to recall the correct name.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, and she glanced up, catching her breath at the wild look in his eyes. Her husband looked near-crazed from her ministrations.

"I'm trying to remember what this is called," she told him, stroking the fingers of her free hand over the soft skin as she cradled it in her palm.

Some of the wildness fled his expression as he gaped at her. "My balls?" he asked in disbelief.

That wasn't the word Belle had been searching for, but she supposed it would do. "Thank you."

A muffled, snorting, vaguely hysterical laugh greeted her words as he covered his face with his hands. "I'm corrupting you."

Keeping his balls- that still wasn't the right word, and it was going to bother her- in her left hand, she moved her right back to his shaft, stroking him with her palm, and he yelped, his body going rigid. "Does it feel good when I touch them?"

This time his laugh was more of a groan. "You have _no_ idea."

He still had his hands over his face, and that somehow made it easier. Lowering her head, she pressed her lips against the tip of him, and he cried out, his hips lifting as he dropped his hands, his arms splayed wide on the floor. "Belle, you don't..."

"Do you like it?" she asked, determined not to let him stop her if she was pleasing him.

"_God_, yes!" he gasped, looking at her like she was a goddess, and this time Belle was happy to accept the adulation.

She pressed gentle kisses against his shaft, feeling him grow harder and hotter with every touch. The noises he was making grew muffled, and she glanced up to see him biting his hand, the other clawing at the floor. Taking her cue from him, she ran her tongue over him, and he slammed his hand against the floor hard enough to break bone, his body arching beneath her.

Hoping she wasn't hurting him, Belle kept licking as he started to shake, his cries growing steadily louder and more frantic. Reaching down, she cradled his balls again, feeling how much tighter they were now. An idea struck her and she opened her mouth, careful of her teeth as she took him between her lips.

"_Fuck_!" His hips jerked, pushing himself deeper as her mouth was suddenly flooded with a bitter salty fluid. Not sure what to do, she swallowed it, closing her mouth around him as she did, and he all but howled. Then his hands were on her, pulling her off of him as he sat up and yanked her into his arms, nearly crushing her to his heaving chest.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry," he gasped into her hair, the words interspersed with frantic kisses. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't expecting you to do that."

He tilted her face up to his, his hand stroking her throat and jaw. "Are you all right, love? I'm _so_ sorry."

"For what?" she asked, swallowing again. She could still taste him in her mouth, an earthy flavor, strange but not unpleasant.

He stared at her in disbelief, then pulled her against him again. "I don't deserve you."

She leaned up to kiss him, and he plundered her mouth with a groan, clutching at her when he tasted himself on her tongue. When they finally had to break apart to breathe, he all but dragged her back to the bed, his mouth already moving down her body to repay the favor, and Belle giggled even as she shivered with pleasure. They were never going to get anything done again.

* * *

For the next four days they lived on increasingly-stale bread and each other, Gold unable to keep his hands off his wife long enough to let her accomplish anything in the kitchen. Only the fact that Belle melted into his arms with every touch kept him from feeling guilty about half-starving her, but food seemed so much less important than showing his wife how desperately he loved her.

With every encounter, he felt the knot of tension in his gut ease a little. Even at his most passionate and uncontrolled, he'd seen no hint of discomfort in Belle's eyes, and slowly he found himself starting to believe that he wouldn't hurt her. He hadn't stopped trying to be careful with her- he didn't think he ever would- but the unrelenting fear of hurting her with his needs was fading away.

On the fifth day she kicked him out of the house out of sheer self-preservation, determining that they needed actual food, and he wandered off to the barn, finding it physically painful to be separated from her for more than ten minutes. Now that he had Belle- _really_ had her- he couldn't fathom how he'd lived without her. He needed her more than he needed to breathe, wouldn't make it through a day without her warm smile and gentle touch. If anything ever happened to her, it would destroy him.

Nothing would, he vowed to himself. He'd protect her with everything he had and make sure that nothing ever hurt his little Belle. If any of his old enemies decided that his wife was his weak spot, he'd show them how wrong they were. Nothing would stop him from keeping her safe.

He gathered up the clothes that had made their way to the barn, determining that it was high time he officially moved back into the cabin. Before he could take the bundle anywhere, Belle appeared in the doorway, the sunlight behind her letting him see her body clearly through her thin chemise, and if she wanted him to keep his hands to himself, _putting clothes on_ might be a good first step.

Fortunately for him, Belle seemed to have no such compunctions about letting her own hands wander, and she approached him with a smile tempered with the knowledge of _exactly_ what she was doing to him. "I actually came to see Dulcinea," she told him with a pretty little pout as she stepped into his arms, her hands roaming his bare back, and really he didn't have any room to complain when it came to putting on clothing. "You're distracting me."

"_You_ came to _me_," he reminded her, leaning down for a nibbling kiss.

"How am I supposed to stay away with you looking so handsome?" she complained.

That wasn't a word Gold ever would have applied to himself, especially not now with five day's worth of growth on his chin, but there was nothing but sincerity in Belle's eyes. Not for the first time he wondered what on earth this amazing woman saw in him, then gave up and decided to simply consider himself lucky she saw _anything_. He tumbled her into the straw that had been his bed in the weeks before she'd allowed him into hers and set to work showing her exactly how happy he was to distract her.

They were still picking straw out of her hair the next day, but the vat of pease porridge she'd made escaped unburned and was still serving as their primary form of sustenance three days later when the whinny of horses approaching the cabin broke through his Belle-induced haze. No one ever came here.

They'd been lying entwined on the bed, him licking at the love bite he'd left on her throat when they heard it. Belle sat up to twitch the curtain away from the window over the bed, her eyes going wide when she saw who was approaching. "It's Ruby and Pastor Hopper!" she hissed, her face a picture of consternation.

It was nearly three in the afternoon, a perfectly reasonable visiting hour, and there was no excuse at all for them to still be in bed other than the obvious one, which wouldn't serve at all when confronted with an unwed girl and a man of the cloth. With a shared look of mortification, they scrambled off the bed and into the first clothes that came to hand as the sound of hoofbeats drew ever nearer.

He yanked his boots on as Belle hurriedly did up her hair, squeaking in dismay as she looked in the mirror. She'd put on her blue dress, which he whole-heartedly approved of, but the low neckline did nothing to conceal the bite mark on her neck. Before either of them could do anything about it, there was a knock at the door and there was no choice but to let their guests in, Belle's face bright red.

"Miss Lucas, Pastor Hopper," he greeted, hoping he sounded somewhat steady as Belle came up behind him, shielding herself with his body as she made her own greetings.

The look of frozen terror on their guests' faces melted into profound relief at the sight of Belle, and he glanced back at her, baffled, as he stepped aside to let Ruby dart past him.

Belle shook her head, equally confused, then her friend threw her arms around her, hugging her like she'd returned from the grave. "You're all right!" she exclaimed in a voice Gold didn't think was meant to carry as much as it did. "No one's seen you in a week; we were afraid he killed you!"

Gold was torn between bursting into laughter and vowing never to show his face in Storybrooke again when Pastor Hopper cleared his throat, his face as red as his hair. Every participant seemed to feel the awkwardness of the situation except for Ruby herself, and Gold struggled for something to say. "I'll help you with the horses."

Unhitching and stabling the horses gave him something to do with his hands, which was a relief because Hopper didn't seem to have much more of an idea of what to say than he did. "You have a lovely view," he finally came out with.

"I like the quiet," Gold agreed, and Hopper swallowed hard, looking uncomfortable.

"And things are going well? With Miss Fr- Mrs. Gold?" he asked somewhat desperately.

Gold had no idea how to answer that question in a socially-acceptable way, so he settled for nodding. "My apologies for missing church on Sunday," he offered, "We were... busy." In truth, neither of them had even noticed it _was_ Sunday.

"No matter, no matter," Hopper rubbed his hands together as they finished getting the horses fresh water. Gold shot Imp a warning look as the stallion attempted to nip at the pastor. "Perhaps we'll see you this Sunday?"

"Perhaps." They should probably make some kind of public appearance just to convince the town that he hadn't dumped his wife into a shallow grave. "Have you and Miss Lucas set a date yet?" he asked, pleased to have hit on a topic of conversation.

A genuine smile lit Hopper's face at the mention of his girl. "Not yet. This isn't the sort of thing that should be rushed." He slammed his mouth shut as soon as the words were out, paling.

Personally, Gold thought there was plenty to be said for rushing into things, but considering how long it had taken the other man to even ask permission to court Ruby, he doubted he'd get the pastor to agree. "Still, you don't want to wait too long," he pointed out, holding Hopper's gaze, "Life's unpredictable."

Hopper stared at him like a rabbit in the sights of a gun, then nodded tightly. "I see your point, sir."

Gold narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of the other man's reaction, and Hopper cringed a little. Mentally replaying his own words, he winced inwardly, realizing they could be construed as a threat. "Perhaps we should rejoin the ladies," he suggested, and he'd never seen the pastor move as fast as he did when returning to the cabin. He'd probably have to tell Belle about this.

Belle had made a pot of tea and moved their two kitchen chairs to join her rocking chair in front of the fireplace. If having company was going to become a regular event, he was going to have to build more furniture. In the meantime, he waved Hopper into the free chair and opted to lean against the mantel at Belle's elbow. "Belle's rocking chair is beautiful, Mr. Gold," Ruby told him cheerfully, apparently having decided she liked him perfectly well now that she was certain he hadn't murdered her friend, "I had no idea you could carve like that."

He nodded, accepting the thanks, "Gives me something to do with my hands." Other than put them on his wife. He refrained from adding the second part of it.

From that point on, Belle and Ruby carried the conversation, with Hopper interjecting when prompted. Gold watched his wife, enjoying the smile on her face and the way she turned to look at him, including him in the visit even if he wasn't contributing to the chatter.

Still, it came as a relief when the pair left, Belle lingering in the doorway to wave until they were out of sight. "Did you have a nice talk with Pastor Hopper?" she asked as she sat down next to him on the edge of the bed.

"Yes?" he said uncertainly. It hadn't been a _bad_ talk anyway.

Belle kissed his cheek, so that was apparently the correct response. "Ruby was worried about me," she confessed, her color high. "The last thing she knew was that I caught you at the cathouse, and then when no one saw us for so long..."

Somehow Gold had forgotten that Ruby had been the one to tell Belle about the whore, and he was thankful he hadn't remembered while she was there because he never would have been able to look her in the eye.

"I told her it was all a misunderstanding," she said comfortingly. "She has other things on her mind anyway. She can't decide if she should start making her wedding dress since Pastor Hopper hasn't asked her yet. She's afraid it's bad luck."

Gold could set her mind at ease on that point. "I think he'll be asking her very soon."

"Oh?" she turned to him with interest, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I may have... implied... it would be a good idea to propose sooner rather than later," he admitted.

She stared at him. "Did you threaten Pastor Hopper?"

"Not intentionally," he defended. Truly, he hadn't meant it like that. Although if it prompted the other man to action, Gold didn't see the problem.

Belle snorted, falling back to sprawl horizontally across the bed, "Only you could threaten someone into proposing marriage _accidentally_."

He lay down beside her, curling his arm around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Have I told you how pretty you look in your dress?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I made the bodice tight on purpose," she confessed with a shy smile, "I was trying to get you to kiss me."

Charmed by her admission, if still kicking himself for making her actions necessary, Gold cradled her jaw, tilting her head back for a proper kiss. Belle sighed against his lips, and he spent a joyous hour proving that he was happy to kiss her, dress or no.

Afterwards, Belle lay on her stomach, her head pillowed on her arms as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine. "We should go into town tomorrow," she said, returning to the previous topic of conversation, "Show everyone that I'm not dead."

"I'm sure Ruby will spread the word," he assured her, following his fingers with his lips. He'd shared her with Ruby and Pastor Hopper today; he wasn't quite ready yet to share her with the rest of Storybrooke.

"I haven't seen my father in a month," she said quietly.

Gold sighed, pressed a long kiss to the nape of her neck. "We'll visit tomorrow."

He kissed away her grateful smile, hesitating when Belle said, "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

Tamping down the flash of hurt, Gold reminded himself not to jump to conclusions. "Do I not _have_ to come or do you not _want_ me to come?" he asked carefully.

Belle's eyes widened at the question. "Of course I want you to come," she said at once, and the hurt dissipated immediately, "I just know it'll be awkward."

The last time she'd been alone with her father, he'd struck her. Even if Belle had told him she didn't want him with her, Gold wasn't certain he'd be able to stay away. "Then we'll visit tomorrow," he repeated.

Her look of gratitude warmed his heart. Awkward or not, she was willing to share this with him. Going back to what he'd been doing, he thought about the next day. "Belle, what happened to your father?" he asked softly, hoping not to upset her.

"He started drinking about six years ago," she sighed. "It wasn't so bad at first."

"Do you know why?" he pressed. No man woke up and decided to become a drunk, Gold knew that better than anyone. Something had happened to Moe French.

"There was a woman who was having a baby," Belle said, watching him carefully, "Something went wrong, and he couldn't save either of them. That's the first time I ever saw him get drunk. He was never right afterward."

He kissed her gently, reassuring her that she hadn't hurt him with the story's similarity to his own past. "That's not unusual though," he said. For a time he'd been hyperaware of how many women were lost to childbearing even after he'd made his peace with Nora's death. For a trained doctor to react so strongly to the loss of a birthing woman was strange.

"That's what happened to my mother," she admitted. "She died having me. I think maybe it just brought back bad memories. I don't know. After that day it was like something in him was broken. I tried to fix it, but..."

"You can't fix someone who's not ready to be fixed," he told her firmly, hoping that his little Belle didn't blame herself. "You took good care of him. No one else could have done more."

Her blue eyes flooded with tears, but she nodded. "I tried. I really tried."

He pulled her into his arms, her head tucked beneath his chin. "I know you did, love. We'll look out for him. Maybe one day he'll come out of it. I did."

For the first time in his life, Gold was almost grateful for his past as a drunk if it could offer her hope. If he could recover from that self-destructive life, surely Moe French could too. He just needed the right incentive. Personally, Gold couldn't think of a better one than Belle herself, but for some reason she hadn't been enough for the doctor. The thought filled him with a mixture of both sadness and rage, but Belle was his now, and he'd take care of her. If her father had been able to care for her properly, they might never have found each other.

Their lovemaking that night was careful and tender, Gold glad he was able to offer his wife comfort through his touch. The following day was unlikely to be pleasant for either of them, but at least he'd be at her side.

The next day dawned clear and bright, not matching either of their moods. Even Belle's dress was a somber affair, one of her older ones, and he immediately decided she needed more fabric. They'd pick something out after their visit. Perhaps that would help to cheer her.

"We're going to have to start working on the garden again," Belle told him as they rode for town. "All the weeds have probably come back."

"Most likely," he agreed, trying to keep the conversation going in hopes of distracting her. "Is there anything special you'd like to plant?"

They spent the ride discussing the garden as Gold tried to remember just what was already planted out there. He knew there were blackberries and wild strawberries and probably some sorrel but other than that it was a mystery. It might be easier for them to simply start over.

Belle had a list of ideas ranging from basic carrots to the more exotic quince, and Gold was willing to try whatever she'd like. His favorite suggestion was when she shyly asked if they could plant rose bushes near the door of the cabin. He was highly in favor of anything that made him think of Belle, and that led his thoughts back to the feather still tucked in one of his pockets at the cabin. He'd have to show that to her one of these days. He wondered if she'd ever missed it.

The conversation carried them to the front door of the house Belle had once shared with her father, and she stuck close to him as he tied up the horses. He took her arm, glancing up at the window of her old bedroom as he guided her toward the porch steps. Once upon a time, he'd climbed up the side of this house, hoping for a mere glimpse of her, and that night had led to so much more. For all that he wasn't looking forward to the upcoming interview, Gold had nothing but good memories of this place.

Belle clearly felt differently, and he could read the nervousness on her face as she knocked on the door. He pulled her a little closer, trying to offer her whatever support he could.

After what seemed like an hour, Moe French opened the door, his face going slack with surprise at the sight of his daughter and her husband. "Hello, papa," Belle said quietly as he muttered a greeting of his own.

"Belle. Mr. Gold." The other man's eyes glanced to him and darted away almost immediately. He stood there for so long that Gold half-expected him to shut the door in their faces when he finally took a step back. "Won't you come in?"

He watched the other man closely as he followed him into the parlor, taking a seat beside his wife on what he immediately realized was the world's most uncomfortable settee. French looked a bit thinner than the last time he'd seen the man, but not unhealthily so. His face was heavily-lined, his eyes dull, but not clouded by drink. Gold wasn't sure if that meant he'd given it up or if it was yet too early in the day for him to be drunk.

With a start he realized that Belle's father was roughly the same age he was, and his mouth twisted wryly. He didn't care much for the thought, but if Belle didn't mind about his age, he supposed he shouldn't either.

French didn't offer them any kind of refreshment, but he was looking carefully at Belle, examining every inch of her for possible harm, and Gold was glad the collar of her dress hid the love bite. The thought of his wife's father seeing that left him feeling like a misbehaving schoolboy for all that he and the other man were of an age.

Swallowing hard, French addressed Belle, "You're... you're well?"

Belle nodded eagerly, leaning forward as she said, "Oh yes, very well. I'm very happy."

Her voice was a little too bright which he attributed to nerves. Unfortunately, it made her sound like she was lying. French glanced suspiciously at him, and he stared back impassively. The bastard had struck Belle. For all that he'd promised to protect him, Gold couldn't forgive him for that even if his wife had.

"Clary was disappointed things didn't work out," he said, staring down at his hands, and Belle stiffened. "He would have made you a good husband."

Gold's fingers itched to be wrapped around his gun. Clary had threatened Belle, had threatened French's own worthless life, and he still thought she'd be better off with him. Beside him, Belle was trembling, and he wrapped his arm around her, running his fingers up and down her arm soothingly. "I _have_ a good husband," she bit out. French looked far from convinced.

"I tried to do what was best for you, Belle," he said pleadingly, and there wasn't a doubt in Gold's mind that the man meant it. For all his flaws and weaknesses, French loved his daughter. They had that much in common. They'd both decided they knew what was best for her and made decisions accordingly. Too many people had tried to organize Belle's life for her, and the only mercy was that she'd managed to keep either of them from ruining it completely.

"I know you did, papa," she said, and there was a world of tenderness and forgiveness in her voice, "But you didn't _know_ what was best for me. I had to decide my own fate."

"With _him_?" French jerked his chin at Gold who did his level best not to glare back. It wasn't easy.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, and the passionate response warmed his heart, "With my husband. With the man I love."

"Oh, Belle..." he sighed, and it was obvious he wasn't listening to a word she was saying.

Clearly Belle realized it too. She leaned into him for a moment, and he held her tighter, then she stood up, smoothing down her skirts as she whispered, "We're done."

He slipped his hand into hers as she headed for the door, French trailing behind them, and Belle squeezed his fingers. She halted at the front door, turning to face her father. "I'm very happily married, papa. I hope someday you'll be happy for me."

"Belle..." French looked helpless, and no more words followed her name.

"I love you, papa," she said gently, then she left the house, her hand tight around his.

The door closed behind them, leaving them alone on the porch and Belle swiped at her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and Gold took her hands, smiling a little as he remembered a very similar moment. Had it really only been two months ago? He'd walked her home, and she'd kissed his cheek, and it had been all he could do not to seize her lips. He'd restrained himself, told himself Belle would never want him, and now she was his wife.

"For what?" he asked. He'd scarcely said a thing during their visit. Belle had done all of the work.

She smiled at him although her eyes were still too bright and shook her head helplessly. "For being you."

Fabric shopping could wait for another day. Gold pulled Belle close, not even noticing the stares they attracted as he pressed a long kiss to the crown of her head. "Come on, love. Let's go home.


	10. Chapter 10

Although clearly upset, Belle said little about her interview with her father as they rode home, but what she did say surprised him, "He shouldn't have said that about George. He had no right to say that in front of you."

The indignation was thick in her tone, and he hastened to reassure her, "I didn't mind it, love." He'd been offended on her behalf that her father should still want her to be with a man she disliked, but he couldn't fault the man on his own account. No father would want his daughter to marry a man with his reputation.

"I did, and you should have," Belle shot back. "You're the best husband any woman could ask for. I'm _lucky_ to have you."

His face heated as he blushed like a schoolboy at her spirited defense of him. "I'm the lucky one."

Belle smiled at her, her eyes warm with affection. "See? That's just what I mean." Her face fell as she shook her head, saying half to herself, "I wish I could make him understand."

Gold wished he knew what to say to ease the pain of Belle's estrangement from her father. The man's words had bothered her, and he almost wished he hadn't told Clary the doctor was under his protection. Of course, if Clary _had_ harmed him, Belle would be no happier. Gold was unaccustomed to having a problem that couldn't be resolved by shooting or threatening someone, and he didn't appreciate how helpless it made him feel. His wife was upset, and he could think of nothing he could do for her.

"We'll just keep showing everybody how happy we are together," Belle finally sighed, "Maybe then he'll believe it."

Privately, Gold thought the best they could hope for was that Storybrooke would eventually come to believe he had no intention of killing his wife, but he kept the thought to himself.

Belle seemed distracted once they got home, busying herself with tidying up the cabin. He helped as best he could, feeling rather like he was just getting in the way, but he wasn't willing to leave her on her own just yet. "What's this?" her curious voice broke the silence as she held up a somewhat mangled feather, "It fell out of your pocket."

She'd been gathering their clothes in preparation for washing them, he realized, not sure whether to be embarrassed or not. He _had_ intended to show her though. Perhaps it would make her smile. Walking over to her, he plucked the feather from her hand, enjoying the flood of warm memories that came to him when he ran his thumb over it. "Don't you recognize it?"

Her lips quirked in a puzzled smile as she looked from the feather to him and back. "Should I?"

He straightened it out as best he could and then tucked it into her hair, raising his eyebrows. Belle's eyes widened. "Is this mine?"

"It fell out of your hair the night I kissed you," he admitted, leaning down to recreate that sweet brush of lips, this time without pulling back halfway through. He should have just kept kissing her that night. It would have warded off so many other problems.

"And you kept it?" She was smiling brighter than she had since they left her father's house, her eyes sparkling.

He took her hands in his and squeezed gently. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again. I wanted something of yours to keep you close."

Her eyes swam with tears, but before he could worry that he'd upset her, she was kissing him, plucking the feather out of her hair to brush it against his cheek, and he shivered at the touch, The feather had signified Belle to him almost at once, and he'd sublimated so much of his desire into it that just touching it had warmed him. Having his wife use it to tease him made his head swim.

To his delight, Moe French seemed to be the furthest thing from Belle's mind as she boldly deepened the kiss. Not content with simply caressing his face with it, his wife didn't rest until she'd brushed it over every part of his body, a combination of laughter and desire in her eyes that made him tremble as much as the tickling touch. Belle was happy. Despite her father, despite _everything_, she was happy with him. It was all he'd ever wanted, although he'd never expected such a miracle to come to pass. He would have given her anything in the world, but it seemed all she wanted was him. Ridiculous as that was, he was delighted to oblige her.

At Belle's request they didn't visit her father again, not that Gold felt any desire to see the man either. Whenever they visited Storybrooke over the next weeks, he watched her look at every face they passed, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes each time they didn't see Moe French. The only news they had of him came from Granny who was quick to reassure Belle that the man still lived and seemed largely unchanged by circumstances. Gold wanted to shoot him for that- he _should_ be affected by his estrangement from his daughter- but Belle seemed pleased by the information.

Fortunately, Belle was soon distracted from her problems with her father when Ruby exploded out of the door of the Lucas home to greet them with the news that Hopper had finally proposed. She nearly knocked Belle over with her exuberance, then threw herself into his arms, landing a smacking kiss on his cheek while he awkwardly patted her back. "Thank you!" she bubbled, hanging onto his hands even after she finally let him out of the hug, "Archie told me how much talking to you helped."

Gold carefully didn't look at Belle who had her hand over her mouth, a sound suspiciously like a snort escaping her as she struggled not to laugh. "Anytime, Miss Lucas." Ruby promptly stole Belle from him, dragging his wife off to discuss apparently critical issues like food, flowers, and dress patterns in the kitchen and leaving him to cool his heels with Hopper in the parlor.

"I've barely seen her since I proposed," the pastor told him glumly. "I didn't realize how much planning weddings take. I usually just show up for the ceremony."

Since that was all that had been involved in his own wedding, Gold wasn't sure what to tell him. "Have you considered eloping?"

"Yes, actually." Hopper heaved a sigh, "At least she's happy."

Those words became Gold's own mantra over the next six weeks. Ruby had all but moved in to their home, the girls spending most of their time sewing and giggling while he banished himself to the garden. Without Belle at his side, Gold quickly remembered why he'd given up on attempting to grow his own food, but at least he had the sound of her laughter to break the monotony, and she was effusive with praise in the evenings once Ruby left for the day. After he finished with the weeding and planting, he dedicated himself to building a few more chairs and small tables since Ruby and Hopper were apparently planning to become fixtures in their lives.

Although lonely for his wife, Gold didn't begrudge Belle her friend. Embroidering Ruby's wedding dress had banished the last of the shadows from her eyes at her father's treatment, and he wondered if she regretted not having all this for herself when they married. Belle deserved silk and lace and instead she'd stood up with him in her work dress. She'd never expressed any displeasure with the way they'd done things, and she never took off the necklace she'd made of the bridle bit he'd put on her finger during the ceremony, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for depriving her of her chance to be a princess for a day.

"Are you ever sorry, Belle?" he worked up the nerve to ask one night a week before Ruby's wedding and three months after their own. He didn't know what he was planning to do about it if she said yes, but he'd come up with something.

Belle stirred in his arms, planting a kiss on his bare chest directly over his heart. "About what?" she asked, apparently unable to read his mind for once.

"All this fuss about the wedding. You didn't get any of that." He braced himself for her reply. She would be kind about it, but he hated the thought of disappointing her.

"Oh, good heavens, no," she said at once. "This is only fun because it's _not_ my wedding. I'd be so tense if it was! Besides, Ruby's always done things her own way and seeing her be all traditional because of Pastor Hopper is sweet."

The knot in his gut loosened a little at her words. "Besides," she snickered, "If we'd waited two months to get married, you would have found a reason to head for the hills, and I'd be an old maid."

He gave her hair a light tug, protesting, "I wouldn't have."

"You would have decided I'd be better off without you and taken off without saying goodbye," Belle avowed, "My only hope would have been in convincing Papa that you ruined me so he'd go after you with a shotgun. No dress would have made up for that."

Gold couldn't help but laugh. The thought of leaving Belle once she'd promised him her hand was ridiculous, but if he'd had a chance to think about what he was letting her in for by marrying her, he might well have run with the best of intentions. More fool he.

Rolling her onto her back, he buried his face against her neck, rubbing his stubbled chin against her throat just to hear her yelp and giggle. "Our way was better," he decided, looking down at his beaming wife. He inhaled sharply at the sight as it hit him all over again: Belle was his _wife_.

"Much better," she purred, tugging him down for a kiss that drove any thought of guilt out of his head.

Although Belle didn't seem to feel the lack of a proper wedding dress, Gold made certain she had something pretty for her role as Ruby's matron of honor. He'd been taken with the silk the moment he saw it. The fabric was a rich green, but it changed colors in the light, turning almost gold by candlelight, the merest movement making it shimmer. It was perfect for his little Belle.

She'd protested when he gave it to her, saying that she didn't want to outshine Ruby, but enough kisses had persuaded her to do as he asked. Now, watching as she stood at the altar as Ruby and Pastor Hopper took their vows, officiated by the pastor from the next town over, Gold was even more convinced he'd done the right thing. Belle would have outshone her friend anyway, but she _glowed_ in the silk dress. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

The reception bored him to tears, but Belle seemed to enjoy herself. She attracted as much attention as the newlyweds did, this being the first time that much of the town had gotten the chance to speak with her since their own wedding, and she blossomed under the attention, throwing herself back into Storybrooke's social circle. Gold found a corner to lean in with a cup of sugary punch and just watched her, enjoying the way her eyes sparkled with mirth as she spoke to her friends and the rueful smiles she threw his way each time someone kept her from returning to his side.

Perhaps they should move closer to town, he reflected. He preferred the cabin's solitude, but his little Belle required more out of life than just him. He'd ask her, he decided, proud of himself for thinking to do so. Life had gotten dramatically easier once he started actually talking to Belle about what she wanted.

Granny materialized at his elbow, following his gaze to his wife before upending a shot of whiskey from a flask into his cup of punch. "You're good for her," she said with no preamble, "I had my doubts about you, Mr. Gold, but I was wrong. Not every man can be a good husband."

"I'm trying to be," he admitted, never taking his eyes off Belle, "I know how lucky I am."

"And _that's_ what makes you a good husband. It's good to see both my girls well-settled." She left him without another word, and his stomach warmed more from her words than from the alcohol. Belle insisted that he was a good husband, the best husband a woman could ask for, but she was also biased. To hear Granny say the same thing gave him hope that perhaps one day his past wouldn't matter. Someday people might look at him and see nothing more than Belle Gold's husband instead of a fearsome beast. Perhaps one day he'd see no more than that in the mirror.

To his surprise, Belle rejected the idea of moving closer to town out of hand when he brought it up that night. "No, thank you," she said definitely, "Can you imagine? We'd have people underfoot all the time. You'd hate that."

"You might enjoy it though," he protested. She'd looked happy when she was talking to the other wedding guests that afternoon, and he didn't want to deprive her of the comfort of having other people nearby.

She smiled at him, a small secretive smile that made his breath catch. "I enjoy having my husband to myself," she told him, carefully nudging him backwards until he was sitting in her rocking chair.

Taking care not to hurt his knee, she straddled his lap, and Gold was instantly hard. After nearly three months of being Belle's husband in truth- and usually several times a day- he thought he should have more control, but Belle beamed at him like he'd given her a compliment when she felt him against her. Reaching down, she freed him, and he groaned as she ran her fingers over him.

He leaned up to kiss her, liking the new angle. Belle adjusted her skirts, her moist core pressing against his hard cock through her knickers, and she giggled a little. "I didn't think this through."

Slipping his hands beneath the silk, he tugged her knickers down a bit, allowing him to pull the fabric between her legs to the side enough to slip inside her. Belle sank down on him with a sigh, her arms going around his neck as she snuggled against him. "You looked very handsome today, my husband."

He ran his hands over her back, feeling the soft silk overlaying even softer skin, her warmth enveloping him. "And you were the most beautiful woman there, my little Belle."

He didn't even want to move, didn't want anything to interrupt this beautiful communion. He was wrapped in his wife's arms, buried in her body, and he'd never felt more at peace. Pushing his foot against the floor, he started to rock slowly, letting the chair do the work as their bodies pressed against each other.

Belle placed a kiss just below his ear. "I bet you can't even name another woman who was there other than Ruby and Granny," she teased.

"All I saw was you," he admitted readily, "You're all that matters to me, love."

The soft noise she made wasn't quite a sob, then her mouth was on his again, and they were kissing- endlessly, eternally. There was no rush, no urgency, just warm bliss that Gold wanted to savor. His wife was in his arms, and she was safe and content and in love with him, and this was so much more happiness than he'd ever expected to have again.

He kept the chair's movement slow and controlled, each rock pressing him deeper into his Belle. There was pleasure, of course there was, but more than anything this felt like an affirmation. Today they'd seen another couple permanently united, and it had been lovely, but they hadn't needed the party or fancy clothes for themselves. All they needed was each other. There was a connection between them that could never be broken, and the union of their bodies was a reflection of that. "I love you, my little Belle," he murmured against her lips.

"I love you, Anthony." Hearing her say that still made him shiver, but at some point the instinct to deny her words had fled. Belle loved him, and he could believe her now. Somehow he was enough for her, and he'd never stop being thankful that she'd chosen him.

They found satisfaction at the same moment, their lips never parting. Instead of being explosive, it was sweet and warm, and his heart had never felt so full. They were as close as any two people could be, and nothing would _ever_ part them.

Once the wedding was over things settled down, although it quickly became obvious he'd made the right choice in building them more chairs. Ruby and Hopper were frequent guests, and Gold was relieved to discover the younger man liked to fish. There was a decent stream not far from the cabin, and he finally had a way to occupy Hopper so Belle had a chance to gossip with Ruby without having to strain to make conversation with the other man.

From the giggles he could overhear, Gold was reasonably sure he knew what the girls' favorite topic of conversation was. He just hoped that if Belle was deconstructing his performance, she was being kind about it. Then again, from the dazed look in Hopper's eyes and the red marks his shirt collar didn't quite hide Ruby had plenty to contribute herself, and he was glad to be well away from that conversation. Sometimes as they sat and fished Hopper desperately looked like he wanted to ask something, and Gold couldn't help but feel relieved when he didn't work up the nerve.

When October came and the air turned colder, Granny and Ruby both descended on them to help Belle with preserving the garden's harvest. It wasn't overly impressive- they'd started too late for that- but Belle had been insistent that she needed Granny's help, and he hadn't argued. When Granny unceremoniously kicked him out of his own home, he'd saddled Imp and ridden for town, pleased with the opportunity to surprise Belle. The day after their wedding he'd ordered something special for her, and although it had finally come in two weeks ago, he hadn't had the chance to pick it up without her seeing it.

While at the general store, Mrs. Clark, the owner's wife, beckoned him over to examine a display of shawls she'd just received in a shipment, smiling smugly when his attention was immediately arrested by a blue one. The shawl was the exact color of his Belle's eyes and knit from the warmest, softest yarn he'd ever seen. The edges were trimmed with pink ribbon roses, and it would look breathtaking on his wife. He paid the rather exorbitant price without a second thought, realizing with some amusement that he'd apparently gotten the reputation for being quite the soft touch when it came to Belle.

He took his time, not wanting to rush the ladies, but by the time he got home, Granny and Ruby were both gone and Belle was sitting in her rocking chair, a book in her hands that she wasn't reading. The expression on her face wasn't exactly sadness, but it was close enough to worry him, and he moved to kneel at her feet, ignoring the twinge in his knee as he plucked the book out of her hands and took them in his own. "What's wrong, love?"

She started when he touched her like she hadn't even noticed him come in, and he pressed his hand to her forehead, checking to see if she was ill. Her brow felt slightly warmer than normal, but he didn't think she was fevered. "Nothing's... wrong, exactly," she said carefully.

Acid churned in his gut when she trailed off. _Something_ was clearly bothering his little Belle, and that meant something was wrong. "Will you talk to me, love? Please?" he begged. Whatever was wrong, he'd fix it, but she had to tell him what it was.

She squeezed his hands reassuringly, her eyes losing some of their faraway look. "I didn't need Granny's help with the harvest," she confessed, "I needed to talk to her about something."

When she hesitated again, he hazarded a guess, "Is this about your father?" If Moe French had upset her again, he was going to have words with the man whether Belle approved or not. He could not be permitted to destroy his daughter's happiness.

"Oh, no. No!" she said at once, and he was able to breathe a little easier. He couldn't think of anything else she'd need Granny's advice for, but as long as it wasn't her father, he trusted he'd be able to do something about the problem.

Belle sighed and laughed a little. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to do this," she admitted. She looked nervous, but Gold could also see happiness in her eyes, and he was completely baffled. She held his hands tighter like she was afraid he'd try to run and said, "We're going to have a baby."

Being shot had been less of a shock to his system than those words. All the air fled his lungs in a rush, his head swimming dangerously. 'Stupid,' he cursed himself, 'You fucking _idiot_.' How had he not seen this coming? They'd been going at it like rabbits for the past six months, and yet the thought that he could impregnate Belle had never occurred to him. What had he _done_?

Belle's gaze was intent on his face, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction. This was _bad_, but there was nothing they could do about it now. They had a baby on the way. "How.. how long...?" he finally managed to ask, and she relaxed a little now that he was talking.

"About three months, we guessed," she told him eagerly. "I haven't really felt sick so I wasn't sure, but... well... I haven't bled, and I've been dizzy."

All of these were things he should have _noticed_, yet somehow he'd managed to miss every warning sign. If Belle was three months gone that meant they had six left. He had six months left with his wife before- "Oh God," he rasped, dropping his head to rest in her lap, unable to hold it up another second.

"Anthony?" Belle's hands stroked his hair gently, "Are you all right?"

She sounded worried, and he should be reassuring her, but he felt too sick to manage it. This was not an appropriate reaction to her news. He should be holding her and kissing her and telling her how happy she'd made him. Worse, a part of him _was_ happy. The thought of a baby, a perfect mixture of himself and Belle that would live on forever was a heady one. It just wasn't enough to justify the risk they were taking.

"Anthony, look at me," Belle coaxed, helping him to lift his head. He searched her eyes desperately, relieved that she didn't look upset, just concerned. She cupped his cheek with her hand, understanding dawning on her face.

She bit her lip, looking at him nervously. "I'm not trying to replace Bae; I swear I'm not. Nothing could ever do that. I know you won't love it as much as you loved him, but you will be able to love it a little, won't you?"

Cold horror swept through him as he realized what she was thinking. "No," he blurted, pulling her out of the chair and into his arms, trying not to crush her against him, "No, that's not it. That's not... I love it already. It's part of you. It's _ours_. How could I not love it?" A mental image of their child appeared in his mind's eye- a little girl, a miniature Belle for him to protect and adore- it was enough to bring him to his knees. He wanted the child desperately. If only there was another way to get it.

"But you're not happy," she stated, not making it a question. It didn't need to be.

"I'm not... unhappy," he tried to explain, releasing her and fluttering his hands uselessly as he sat down hard on the floor. Swallowing with difficulty, he forced himself to confess. "I'm terrified."

Belle nodded encouragingly, reaching out to take his hands and hold them still. "Of what?"

"Of _losing you_," he whispered, anguished. "Nora died having Bae. Your mother died having you. I can't lose you, Belle. I _can't_." His voice broke on the last word and she pulled him close as he struggled not to cry at the very thought. Losing Bae had all but destroyed him. Losing Belle would finish the job. There'd be nothing left.

"There's no reason to think anything bad will happen," she told him as she held him tightly. "I'm strong and healthy; my mother wasn't. Granny says there's no reason to be afraid."

Granny _could_ say that; she'd survived her births. "You're... little. Fragile," he said helplessly. Pregnancy was difficult, and childbirth was grueling. The thought of his little Belle going through that was horrifying.

"Oh, I don't know," she pressed a kiss to his hair, and he could hear the smile in her voice, "I seem to recall taking _you_ out once upon a time. I doubt the baby's scarier than you are."

The comment was so unexpected that Gold couldn't help the snorting laugh that escaped him. Belle patted his back, then pulled away enough that he could see her face. She rested her forehead against his, looking directly into his eyes. "I promised to stay with you forever. I will stay with you _forever_. I'm going to be _fine_."

He'd once vowed never to doubt his wife again; she was right about everything. However, in this one case he couldn't quite manage it. Belle was confident, but she couldn't know for sure that nothing would go wrong. No one could. "I'm going to hold you to that," he told her quietly, and she kissed him.

"Come on," she whispered when their lips parted, coaxing him to get off the floor, "Tell me what you did in town."

"I bought you something," he told her, relieved to be back on solid ground. There was nothing to be done about her pregnancy, and if he only had six months left with her, he didn't want to waste them.

Belle chuckled and shook her head fondly. "Of course you did."

She'd scolded him for spoiling her before, but he would not be put off. His Belle had gone without for far too long. She deserved all the pretty things a woman could want, and he was eager to provide them.

The shawl looked every bit as lovely on her as he'd thought it would, and Belle cooed over its softness. He couldn't help but picture her reading in front of the fire, the shawl draped around her, her belly swollen with their child, and his breath caught with nothing more than the beauty of the mental image The fear followed close on its heels, and he brutally forced it away. It would not intrude on this time with her.

His other purchase was still in his saddlebag, and he put it on the table, watching with amusement as Belle prodded at it, trying to guess what was inside. "More books?" she finally guessed.

"Well yes, but not exactly," he allowed, and she shot him a puzzled look before carefully pulling four heavy black books out of the saddlebag.

"Medical books?" she asked in surprise, running her finger down the leather-clad spines, "These are like Papa's."

Suddenly ordering the set didn't seem like such a good idea. "You did such a good job fixing me up, I thought it might be something you were interested in," he tried to explain. "Storybrooke could use a doctor since your father... retired. Only if you're interested though. I didn't mean to-"

Her lips against his cut off his nervous rambling, and when Belle pulled back there were tears sparkling in her eyes. "You really think I could doctor?"

"Belle, I think you could fly if you set your mind to it," he told her honestly, and she beamed at him.

The books lay forgotten on the table as she tugged him over to the bed, and he was careful not to let any of his weight rest on her as he took her as gently as he could. In truth he was half-afraid to touch her at all, concerned that any exertion would be too much for her, but Belle pointed out that he was unlikely to get her 'more pregnant,' and he couldn't deny his need for his wife, especially if their time together would be limited. He needed every memory he could get, something to live on in case the worst should happen.

Despite Belle's words of reassurance, Gold couldn't help but feel he'd signed her death warrant, and if his selfishness cost him his wife, he knew damned well he'd never recover. He lay awake long after she'd fallen asleep, greedily watching every rise and fall of her chest. Hesitantly, he rested his hand on her flat stomach. Their baby was growing there although he could feel no sign of it, and the idea awed and sickened him all at once.

He was going to be a father again; he hadn't realized how desperately he wanted that until now. Belle would be a wonderful mother, and the thought of the two of them becoming a family of three made his eyes burn. If only there was some guarantee that this wouldn't cost him his Belle, he'd be over the moon.

Trying not to wake her, he pressed his lips to her abdomen, whispering to the baby, "Please don't hurt her. You love her too; you must. She's your mama. _Please_ don't hurt her."

There was no reply from the baby, of course, but Belle's fingers carded through his hair as he rested his cheek against her stomach, and her touch felt like a benediction.

* * *

Belle awoke to the scent of porridge and tea, and her stomach rolled dangerously for a moment. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose until the nausea passed, then sat up carefully to see her husband putting the finishing touches on breakfast.

For a moment she thought she'd overslept, but a quick glance out the window told her that the sun was still low on the horizon. "Morning, love," he greeted her once he saw she was awake, bringing her bowl to her in bed when she would have come to the table.

Piling pillows behind her to make a cozy nest, he rejoined her with his own breakfast, and Belle felt like she was wallowing in luxury, eating breakfast in bed with her husband beside her. To her surprise he didn't make love to her once they'd finished, just handed her the book she'd been reading while he cleaned up their few dishes.

Relaxed and content, she finished the chapter she'd been in the middle of before swinging her legs out of bed, intent on making a start on the day's work. The feel of eyes on her arrested her movement, and she hesitated, sitting on the edge of the bed as her husband frowned at her. Belle glanced down at herself, wondering what he could possibly find to disapprove of, then he suggested, "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Understanding swept through her, and she smiled, getting off the bed to embrace him. "I'm _fine_," she assured him, wishing there was some chance he might believe her words. "Besides, I have things to do. If I don't prune the roses, they'll be a mess come spring."

The rose bushes they'd planted near the cabin's door had grown enormously over the spring and summer, and Belle hated to cut them back, but if left alone they'd soon wind up blocking the door altogether. Once the baby started to walk, they'd have to teach it to avoid the plants so it wasn't cut by the thorns.

"I'll do that," he offered at once, trying to nudge her back to the bed, "You just rest, love."

She waited until he'd left the cabin before she dressed, wrapping the lovely shawl around herself as she went to sit on the cabin's front steps. He shot her an unhappy look when he saw her, and she held her hands up innocently, "I'm sitting."

He still didn't look happy, but he didn't argue with her, and it was a pleasure for Belle to watch him work. He seemed even more reluctant to trim the roses than she was, and she hadn't realized until that moment just how much he liked them. Using the same patient care he showed the horses, he cut them back, his hands gentle against the tender branches even when the thorns snagged him. Belle rested her chin on her hand, warmth filling her despite the cool breeze. He was going to be a _wonderful_ father.

When she went inside to start on their noon meal, he followed her, guiding her away from the stove and toward her rocking chair. "Let me take care of that. What do you want to eat?"

Belle watched in bemusement as he started on their meal, finally asking, "You're not going to do this for the next six months, are you?"

He rested both hands on the table, his posture defeated, and she wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him, but his next words brought her up short. "Humor me, Belle. Just... please sit."

"_I'm fine_." She put as much reassurance into the words as she could, but she stayed seated, not missing the way he shot wary glances at her, looking at her like she was a powder keg. For the first time she felt guilty about this. She'd hardly done it on her own, but the notion that she was upsetting her husband bothered her. She was supposed to be his helpmeet, not an additional source of unease.

One good thing was coming from his concern, she decided as she watched him prepare their meal. Although not afraid of her pregnancy, she _was_ nervous. This was something completely new to her. As an unmarried woman, she hadn't been permitted near Papa's lady patients when they were with child. Had her mother lived, she might have had younger brothers and sisters and therefore had first-hand experience at the art of child-bearing, but as it was everything she knew came from books and what Granny had shared with her the previous day. The information she had was valuable but hardly the same as having lived it herself.

Belle hated to think she was giving her husband even a moment of pain, but in reassuring him, she reassured herself. Each time she promised him that she'd be fine, she believed it a little more herself, and she hoped he would pick up on her confidence.

She was certainly having an easy time of it so far compared to what Granny had told her was a possibility. A bit of dizziness was easy to manage, and any sickness she'd felt had been mild. If it wasn't for the way her husband was acting, she could almost forget that she was expecting at all.

Having a day off wasn't unpleasant, and she liked having her husband at her side, although she could have lived without the worry in his eyes each time he glanced at her, but they couldn't go on like this. Even though he did a more than respectable job preparing their meals and taking care of their home, if he expected her to do nothing but rest for the next six months, she'd go stir-crazy. She felt _fine_, and Belle had never been comfortable with being idle.

He was quiet all that day in a way he hadn't been since they were first married. Belle read to him and offered him what comfort she could with her touch, but it wasn't enough to completely banish the shadows from his eyes. Not even their lovemaking that night could do that. He was gentle and careful, touching her with such tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes. Even so she could almost hear his thoughts as he slid into her, counting down the time he thought they had left, and she wished there was something she could do to make his fears go away.

The next morning she rose before he did and started their breakfast, pointing an imperious finger at the rocking chair when he woke up enough to protest. On the seat was one of the medical books with the section on pregnancy neatly marked, and she stared him down until he took a seat and started to read. He had only his experience with Nora to tell him how to respond to Belle's pregnancy, and she hoped that by reading about what was normal, he'd feel more at ease about it.

Although she was conscious of his eyes upon her, her husband spending more time watching her than actually reading, she considered it a victory when she got their meal on the table without him insisting on doing more than handling the kettle for her. They spent the rest of the morning reading together, Belle curled up in his lap as she called attention to things she found particularly relevant like how rare life-threatening complications were, the fact that a pregnant woman was encouraged to carry out her usual tasks with the exception of heavy lifting, and exercise was considered healthy.

"I'm _sorry_, Belle," he whispered against her neck as she held him close, "I want to be happy. I swear I do. I want us to be a family; I'm just scared to death, love."

"I know. I understand, but I'm going to be _fine_," she said again, not begrudging him his need to hear the words. "I'm strong, and I'm stubborn, and I'm _never_ going to leave you."

He stifled a sob against her skin, his face feeling hot as he begged, "Promise me you won't die."

"I promise," she said fiercely, hugging him close. "I'm going to be with you forever."

In the end they reached a compromise: she could do as she liked as long as he was there, and she promised to sit down if she felt the slightest bit sick or dizzy. Belle had to admit that it was nice to have help after doing for her father by herself for so long. He hadn't lifted a finger to help her after he took to drink, but her husband was not only competent, he was eager to be of use.

They kept to the house more as the days grew colder, cutting back on their trips to Storybrooke because he was nervous of her riding. Belle rather thought the only way Dulcinea would throw her would be if someone attached a firecracker to her tail, but she didn't argue. She was rattling his peace of mind enough as it was.

Once they'd established what Belle was and was not going to do in her delicate condition, they barely spoke about the baby. Instead he told her stories from his youth, and she told him about growing up back east before her father opted to move them to Storybrooke. After six months of marriage they were finally getting to know each other.

Ruby, on the other hand, could speak of nothing else when she visited. Her friend was nearly beside herself with excitement, and she didn't seem to notice how quiet her husband got when the subject was raised. Then again, he said so little normally that someone who didn't know him well might not notice the difference.

Granny picked up on her husband's reticence almost immediately when she came a month later with several boxes of diapers, linens, and baby clothes. "They were Ruby's last, and she didn't quite destroy everything," she said briskly, "The family was mostly girls, so if you have a boy we'll have to get to sewing. For a girl you're set."

Belle hugged her, and her husband thanked her gravely before setting off for town with a list Belle had written out for him tucked in his pocket. He was afraid to leave her on her own, therefore they were running low on nearly everything. As soon as he was out of sight, Granny turned to her, "He's not happy?"

Although she didn't want to break her husband's confidence, Belle had to tell her something so she wouldn't assume the worst. "He's worried about me. His first wife died in childbirth, and when I told him about my mother..."

Granny nodded, "What happened to the baby?"

"Indian attack," Belle answered, her heart aching for a boy she'd never met, "He was thirteen."

"Poor bastard," Granny murmured, looking off in the direction he'd gone, "I always wondered. That explains a lot."

She gave Belle a considering look from head to toe. "You're tough as a bag of hammers. No baby's going to be the end of you. Tell that husband of yours not to worry."

Belle was pleased to relay the message later that afternoon as they put away his purchases, and his lips quirked in a genuine smile although concern still shadowed his eyes. "I bought something," he offered hesitantly, and Belle stifled a giggle. No matter how many times she told him that she didn't need anything but him, her husband seemed intent on spoiling her.

This present, she realized at once, wasn't for her. Looking nervous, he proffered the rag doll, a lovely piece of work with brown yarn hair, blue button eyes, and a sprigged muslin gown. She was adorable, but it was what she signified that moved Belle most: he was _trying_. Throwing her arms around both man and doll, she simply held on for dear life.

Things changed after that. Her hands were constantly busy knitting or making baby clothes using the hand-me-downs Granny had dropped off as a pattern. Belle had always been an impatient sewer but working on something so small was satisfying without taking long enough to be dull.

The sewing was unnecessary- thanks to Granny they had more than enough to welcome a new baby- but for some reason it felt right to Belle. Although her stomach felt firmer, she had yet to start to show and the wait was driving her mad. The growing collection of baby clothes made the baby real to her in a way it wasn't yet, the excitement finally outweighing her nerves. She was going to be a mother.

As she sat and sewed, her husband occupied himself with building a cradle. It was the first time she'd seen him work on anything so complex, and she found the process fascinating. He examined each piece of wood for any possible flaws, carving it in long smooth strokes, his face completely focused, lips slightly parted as he concentrated. There was something endearing about seeing him so lost in what he was doing.

He glanced to her as he moved on to sanding the pieces he'd finished, his color heightening as he caught her staring at him. "What?"

Belle shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. "Just admiring the view."

He returned his attention to his sanding, his blush deepening. "Have you thought about names?" he asked.

Belle's breath caught. Although he'd been showing more of an interest in preparing for the baby, this was the first time he'd broached the subject himself. "Constantly," she admitted.

Glancing back up at her, he nodded expectantly. She shook her head, "I don't know. Nothing really seems _right_ for her."

He leaned closer, attention riveted to her, "Her?"

It was Belle's turn to blush. "I think it's a girl. I don't know why; I've just always thought of her as _her_."

Barely breathing, he swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Her," he repeated, his voice ragged and reverent, "Our little girl."

"We'll be a family," she promised, putting her sewing aside so she could go to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind, "All three of us."

He half-turned in his seat so he could look up at her, resting one hand on her abdomen, and Belle leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Are there any names you like?" she prompted.

He was quiet for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer her, then he nodded. "Rose."

"Rose Gold," she murmured, trying it out for herself, and she found that it fit perfectly. "It's beautiful."

"You make me think of roses. Or roses make me think of you," he tried to explain, "It just seemed right."

Now that she thought about it, roses had become a motif of their life together. There were roses on her rocking chair and on her shawl; they were the first things they'd planted even before planting the garden. "I think it's perfect," she agreed, resting her hand over his on her belly. "Her name is Rose."

"What was your mother's name, Belle?" he asked, not looking away from where his hand rested over their child, their Rose.

"Grace." It was a name she'd rarely said aloud. More than anything she wished her mother was here to share this time with her. Sometimes she'd considered herself blessed that she had no memories of the woman who'd died to give her life; she couldn't miss what she'd never known, but right now, she _missed_ her mother. Her daughter would never know what it was like to miss a parent, Belle swore to herself. She would fight tooth and nail to stay with her family, and they would be together forever.

"Rose Grace?" he suggested, looking up at her anxiously. "In her honor?"

Even without the memory of her mother it would be a beautiful name; knowing that he wanted to name their daughter for a woman he'd never known made it perfect. Brushing his hand away from her stomach, she sat down in his lap, suddenly unable to be close enough to her husband, this astonishing man she'd married. "I love it. Rose Grace Gold."

A thought occurred to her, and she smiled sadly. "Papa barely said her name after she died. Maybe this will help. Maybe he'll like that we named her after Mama."

Her husband pressed a long kiss to her temple. "I wish I could make this better for you, love. The way he's treating you isn't right."

"I know it isn't. I just want him to accept you- to accept _us_. I know he's scared and worried, but I wish he'd trust my judgement." For all that she'd taken care of her father for years, she knew he still saw her as a child. The drink had blinded him to how much she'd grown up. She was twenty-four, but might as well be half that in his eyes, and he saw her throwing herself into danger.

"Are you sure I can't shoot him? Or at least threaten him a little?" The fact that she wasn't sure if it was a joke or not just made it funnier, and she broke into laughter. He tapped her on the behind playfully and defended, "It worked for Hopper."

"I still can't believe you did that," she snickered. What made it all the more amusing was that it had _worked_. "Can we ask the Hoppers to be her godparents?"

"If we don't, Ruby will never let us hear the end of it," he sighed in mock-resignation.

"Of course, that means we'll be god-parenting their brood once the babies come. And based on what Ruby's been telling me, that shouldn't take long-" She laughed harder when he held up a hand to stop her, a pained expression on his face. "If you're not careful, you're going to find yourself with friends."

The notion delighted her. Her husband had been so alone for so long that she wondered if he even missed human interaction any more or if he'd gotten completely accustomed to going without. While she loved how intense his feelings for her were, Belle still thought it would do him a world of good to have other people in his life to talk to. If enough people treated him like he was just an ordinary man, perhaps one day that was how he'd see himself.

"Let's start small, please?" he begged, the very notion making him look uncomfortable. "Let's start with you and Rose, and then we'll see."

She smiled tenderly and brushed a kiss against his lips. "Deal." For all that he was wary of Rose, she was sure he'd adore the baby once she was here. Maybe she would put him back in touch with those parts of himself he'd lost when he lost Bae. If he could be happy again, truly happy, all this uncertainty would be more than worthwhile.

"I hope she looks like you," he murmured into her hair, pulling her tighter against him, "I want her to look just like you."

"She'll look just like herself," she promised him, rather thinking that it wouldn't matter if Rose had claws and scales; they'd still think she was the most beautiful baby in the history of the world.

As the months passed and her stomach slowly grew rounder, Belle could feel the excitement bubbling through her veins. Nothing in her life could compare to the first time she felt Rose move within her, the sensation so longed-for but unexpected at the same time that she could do nothing but gasp. Her husband was at her side in a heartbeat, his face panicked, and she grabbed his hand, pressing it to the spot where she'd felt the baby. The fluttering movement returned at his touch, and the panic drained from his face, leaving him looking stunned. "Oh."

"She's saying hi," Belle murmured, the wonder in his face matching her own.

Tears flooded her eyes when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her rounded belly. "Hi, Rose."

His eyes followed her near-constantly after that, a combination of fear and awe in them that made her heart hurt. He seemed to relax a little once she passed the seven month mark which had been all the longer Nora had been able to carry Bae. Once she proved this pregnancy would not be a carbon copy of that first one, he seemed to have more faith that things might go well.

For her part, Belle enjoyed every moment even as her belly grew heavy, making her awkward and uncomfortable. She was doing something important even when she was just sitting still; she was creating a person, a perfect mixture of herself and her husband, and nothing she'd ever done had felt half so meaningful.

The waiting was enough to drive her mad. She wanted to hold her daughter in her arms instead of inside her body, to present Rose to her father so he could finally stop worrying and just enjoy his family. She kept sewing, needing the distraction, and they had enough baby clothes to welcome a dozen baby girls. Occasionally it crossed her mind that if Rose turned out to be a boy, they'd have a problem, but Granny assured her that a mother's intuition was rarely wrong.

Although the cradle was long finished, her husband kept fussing with it, and the carvings grew more elaborate by the day. The headboard now featured a lovely pastoral scene of sheep jumping over a fence, and the footboard was decorated with nursery rhyme characters. The sides, of course, were carved with rose vines.

Despite his nerves, her husband was a pillar of strength when it came to her, helping her out of chairs, rubbing her back when it ached, and finding her anything that she craved. His solution of riding to town for strawberry jam when she craved strawberries in February was particularly inspired.

The only other blight on her happiness was her father's absence. There was no way he could have missed hearing about the baby even if Belle hadn't seen him. When the weather grew warmer, she'd hoped he'd visit, but he hadn't even done so much as send a note. Moe French was to be a grandfather in a matter of weeks, and he didn't seem to care.

"It's his loss, Belle," her husband tried to reassure her as she cried. She was far more prone to tears now that her pregnancy was nearing its end, and it frustrated her, but he showed no impatience with her overwrought state.

"He's her _grandfather_," she sobbed, "He should love her."

"I think he does," he said unexpectedly; her husband had never concerned himself much with Moe French's mental state. "He certainly loves you; I can't imagine he doesn't feel the same way about Rose."

Her tears slowed as she forced herself to think about what he was saying, "It's just not enough."

"Apparently not, the stupid bastard," he grumbled into her hair, "Just keep giving him time, Belle. There's nothing else you can do."

She managed a watery giggle when he insulted her father, not feeling the slightest bit guilty about it. They'd been estranged for nearly a year, and the loss hurt, but what she had in her life now more than made up for it. She had a husband she adored who adored her, a daughter who'd be arriving in less than a month, and their charmed circle was happiness enough for her. Someday she hoped to include her father in their family, but even if that never happened, this was enough.

Moe French didn't know what he was missing by avoiding them, and her husband was absolutely right: it was _his_ loss.


	11. Chapter 11

For all his fears, Gold had to admit that his wife had never looked more beautiful than she did like this with her belly swollen with their child. Belle glowed with an inner light, her happiness a tangible thing. Although he'd always considered her perfect, the way her body had changed only made her more so. Her hair was thicker, her face more rounded, her breasts fuller. Everything about her was soft and sweet and peaceful, and just looking at her made him ache.

There were long stretches of time when he could almost forget how much danger she was in. Pregnancy agreed with Belle in a way it never had with Nora who'd been ill nearly the entire time, and when they were sitting together and he could feel their daughter moving beneath his hands, it seemed impossible to think that any darkness could possibly intrude on this miraculous time.

Then Belle would wince at a kick from Rose or surreptitiously rub her back when it ached, and reality would come crashing back in. The baby could come any time now, and there was nothing he could do to protect his wife. Gold, who hadn't prayed in over two decades, now did so constantly, a never-ending litany that he hoped would be heard for Belle's sake. 'Please keep her safe. Please let her live. Please don't take her away from me.'

Not since the first weeks of their marriage had he slept so little. He didn't want to waste a moment of their time together, preferring to guard her dreams. Each night he lay awake long after she'd drifted off and just watched her, his hands splayed over her to feel the rise and fall of her chest and Rose's movements inside of her as he whispered quiet pleas to their daughter for Belle's safety. Rose would still as he spoke to her, telling her that she was loved and wanted before reminding her to be kind to her mother, and Gold liked to think they had a tacit agreement. In this, he and Rose were in perfect accord: they both wanted Belle well.

On this night, Rose was restless and so was Belle. She shifted away from his touch, then rolled onto her side to face him, her eyes blinking open in the dim light to meet his. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," he assured her, reaching out to cradle the side of her face, and she nuzzled into the caress.

"Then I didn't mean to keep you up," she smiled wryly, batting the quilt away. For all his attempts to keep her properly tucked in, she was always warm lately and had little patience for being wrapped in the bedclothes.

"I don't mind," he whispered, hating to break the peaceful silence that surrounded them. "Do you feel all right?"

She nodded, rubbing her face against his palm. "Just a little achy."

"Want me to rub your back?" He'd been pleased to discover there were things he could do to help Belle through this, and this was one of his favorites. Any chance to touch his wife was welcome, even if she'd been too uncomfortable to do anything else for the last couple of months once the baby really started to grow. Belle had felt guilty about denying him, but he'd waited nine years for her. A few months of frustration was nothing.

Belle rolled onto her other side with a soft grunt of effort, and he rested his hands against her back, letting the heat of his body coax her tense muscles into relaxing. After a moment, he felt the tension ease slightly and he pressed the heels of his hands against her lower back, massaging in slow circles.

"That feels _so_ good." Her voice was a low groan, and his mouth twitched ruefully as his body responded to the sound. Belle doing _anything_ was a temptation. Belle naked in bed with him and groaning as he touched her was a near-unbearable one. It was just another reason he'd be very, _very_ glad when this was all over.

To his surprise, she reached back to catch his wrist and drew his arm around her, encouraging him to spoon up behind her. Gold went willingly, wincing as his erection came in contact with the curve of her behind. "Sorry, love."

Snickering through her nose, Belle asked, "What's the rule about apologizing?"

He chuckled and took her hand, guiding it to his face so she could bump his cheek with her fist. With a kiss to her fingers, he released her and wrapped his arms about her more firmly, his hand splayed possessively over her swollen belly. "I know you're sore. I'm not expecting anything."

"What if_ I_ want something?" she challenged, sounding slightly strained as she pushed her hips back against him.

His cock twitched at the blatant invitation, and Gold tried to squelch his arousal. "Are you sure, love? I don't want to hurt you."

"It's been months," Belle reminded him as if he could have forgotten, "I miss my husband."

Carefully he tugged her onto her back so he could kiss her without putting any strain on her neck, content just to be close to her and explore her mouth. Belle was more impatient, running her hand over his body and searching out the places she knew made his blood boil. He broke away from her with a gasp and gave her a quelling look that she giggled at. "You want it too," she teased.

"We have to be _careful_," he scolded, resting his hand over Rose who seemed to be asleep for the moment. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her. This was going to be problematic. Rose would be in the way for most of their normal positions, and Belle being on top would be too much exertion for her. She tired so easily now. He could try kneeling on the floor with her on the bed, but his knee had been playing up lately, and Gold wasn't sure he could make that work either.

At his long silence, Belle bit her lip, saying almost inaudibly, "If you don't want to, we don't have to."

"Hmm?" he glanced down at her, perplexed, and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I know I'm not exactly at my best right now," she explained, gesturing to her body before reaching for the quilt and attempting to cover herself. "I don't blame you if you don't want me."

Gold yanked the quilt out of her hand, tossing it to the floor behind him. "You have _never_ looked more beautiful," he told her fiercely, his mouth covering hers in a searing kiss he hoped would drive any doubt out of her mind. To make certain, he pressed himself against her, his hard cock throbbing insistently against her hip. "Does _this_ feel like I don't want you? I'm just trying to figure out how to do this."

She relaxed visibly at his words and rolled back onto her side, glancing up at him over her shoulder. "The way we were before should work, shouldn't it?"

Swallowing hard, he tried to think how to answer her. Yes, that position would work; he just didn't relish the thought of trying it. After a year of marriage he'd yet to take Belle from behind, telling her he wanted to see her pretty face. Which he did but that wasn't the whole truth. Every time he'd been with the whore, his Belle-substitute, he'd taken her from behind. The last thing Gold wanted was for that to intrude on his time with his wife. Those memories, those experiences had no place in this bed.

Yet he couldn't think of a way around it. His little Belle wanted him, and he couldn't think of another way to make that happen. "All right, love," he murmured, curling himself around her and pressing a tender kiss to her throat. He made sure to keep his caresses gentle; her breasts had been tender lately and the last thing in the world he wanted was to inflict any pain.

The swell of her belly beneath his hand kept him grounded. This was real. He was with his wife not a substitute. This was _Belle_ he was loving. He pressed his rough cheek against hers so he could steal kisses without straining her neck, and nothing in the world tasted as wonderful as his wife's lips. He could do nothing but kiss her for the next thousand years, and it still wouldn't be enough. She had to survive this. They hadn't had enough _time_.

His Belle was ready for him already, slick and welcoming against his fingers. When he would have offered her pleasure that way, she squirmed against him, pressing her hips back impatiently. "I want _you_. Please, Anthony."

He could deny her nothing, and the sound of his name on her lips still made him shiver. With a trembling hand he reached down to ease himself in, alert to any sign that Belle was uncomfortable. With a sigh she turned her head to nuzzle his jaw. "I missed this," she murmured, "I missed you."

Gold had told himself repeatedly that simply having Belle at his side was enough for him, and it was, but in this moment it seemed impossible that he'd lasted months without touching his wife this way. Being inside his Belle was the closest thing to heaven he'd ever known, and the urge to simply bury himself in her and reaffirm their connection was nearly overwhelming. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reminded himself to be careful with her.

Afraid she'd overexert herself, he took hold of her hip to keep her from moving as he started to thrust slow and shallow. This had to be easy and gentle, nothing rough, nothing that would hurt Belle or Rose. He focused on giving her pleasure, relishing her soft sighs as he took her as carefully as he could, savoring the feel of her against him and around him.

When she tried to touch him, he caught her hand, squeezing it in his own. "Just enjoy it, love. Just let me take care of you." She'd be playing with fire if she touched him, and Gold wasn't willing to risk it. This was fine just like this. Better than.

Once he was certain she'd stay still, he released her hand to stroke between her legs, fingers and cock working together to please his wife. She deserved pleasure, all the pleasure he could give her and more. Gold ground his teeth with the effort of keeping his thrusts slow and gentle, picking up the pace with just his fingers to encourage the desperate little sobs that were his reward.

"My precious little Belle," he crooned in her ear as she mewled his name, her inner walls fluttering around him as she drew closer to her climax, "My sweet little wife. Do you have any idea how much I love you?" She couldn't possibly know no matter how many times he'd struggled to tell her. His feelings for her were so deep, so intense that no words could ever do them justice. Belle was everything to him, absolutely everything.

"I know how much _I_ love _you_," she answered, turning her face to his for another kiss as she clenched around him, crying out against his lips as she found her satisfaction. With a deep groan, he came with her, so wrapped up in her pleasure that he'd barely noticed how close he was.

He stayed where he was, unwilling to allow any distance between them as he peppered kisses over her throat and shoulder. Being with the whore had been nothing like this, and Gold couldn't believe he'd ever feared he'd confuse the two. The whore had touched his body, but Belle touched his soul, and he'd tear the world apart to keep her with him. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair and just breathed her in, the last shadows of the past banished.

Although their lovemaking left Gold feeling more relaxed and content than he'd been in months, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Belle. She was distracted the entire next day, flipping idly through books without reading them, picking up her sewing and then discarding it after two stitches, and burning a loaf of bread she'd put in to bake. "Are you all right, love?" he finally pleaded once even _Don Quixote_ couldn't hold her attention.

She nodded, then seemed to think about it. "I think so. I just feel... strange."

Gold's heart instantly doubled its pace. "Are you in pain? Should I get Granny? Or... or your father?" Moe French might be a useless drunkard but he was still a doctor. If Belle needed help, a gun aimed at the back of his head should sober him up quickly enough.

"No! No, it's nothing like that," she assured him quickly, although it didn't help. "I don't feel sick and nothing hurts- no more than it usually does anyway. I just feel _strange_."

"Maybe we overdid it last night," he suggested, feeling wretched. He'd tried so hard to be careful with her, but if she was this out of sorts, he obviously hadn't been careful enough.

"I didn't do anything, and you were gentle as a lamb," she scolded, not letting him blame himself. Still, she allowed him to get their supper and tuck her into bed early that night, curling himself around her protectively.

Gold was relieved when she dozed off in his arms. Rest had to be good for her. He splayed his hand over her belly, breathing deeply when he felt Rose moving restlessly. They were all right, he tried to reassure himself. Feeling funny was no cause for panic. Still he was considering getting out of bed to consult the section on pregnancy in Belle's medical books when he felt her belly tighten beneath his hand.

It lasted only a moment, and Belle didn't stir. Gold tried to calm his racing heart. It could be nothing; it was _probably_ nothing, but he knew sleep was lost to him this night. He kept his hand where it was as Belle slumbered beside him, waiting to see if it happened again.

It did. Not often and not regularly, but Gold knew what this meant. Belle's labor was starting and soon enough she'd be walking through fire with him helpless to protect her. He buried his face in her hair, his lips moving in silent prayer comprised largely of one word, 'Please. Please let her stay. Please, oh _please_.'

The hours passed slowly, and the moon was high in the sky when Belle started awake as her belly tightened beneath his hand. Gold clutched her against him, offering comfort for the pain it took him a moment to realize she didn't seem to be in. "How do you feel?" he asked hoarsely.

"Have you slept at all?" she answered his question with one of her own, then answered it herself, "Of course you haven't."

The affectionate tolerance in her voice was so normal that he relaxed in spite of himself. "Of course I haven't," he agreed, "How do you feel, love?"

"My back hurts," she told him, and he pulled away at once to press his hands to the spot she'd indicated, trying to ease away whatever pain he could.

"Anything else?" he asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Nora had been in agony from the first labor pain, but Belle seemed fine. Perhaps he was wrong about what was happening.

"That's it," she yawned then grumbled, "Go back to sleep, Rose."

Gold chuckled as she scolded the baby and kept at what he was doing, feeling her tight muscles relax under his hands. She sighed in relief, and he kept going, unwilling to stop touching her. The feel of her soft skin beneath his hands eased his mind, giving him something to focus on other than his worry, but that was undone in an instant when Belle made a quiet, startled noise, her hands coming to rest on her swollen belly. "Belle?"

"Oh," she said a little breathlessly, "That's what woke me up."

His arms went around her instantly as he pressed himself against her back, clinging to her like his embrace was enough to ward this off. "Are you in pain? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to _calm down_," she said firmly, gripping his wrists and squeezing reassuringly. "It doesn't hurt. Everything just felt... tight for a minute. I guess we know why I felt so strange."

"I should get Granny." The older woman had promised repeatedly that she'd take care of his Belle, telling him that she'd never lost a mother. Belle would _not_ be the first.

"It's the middle of the night," Belle pointed out, shifting closer to him. "Let her sleep. We have hours and hours before anything happens."

He wanted her cared for, but Belle was immoveable on the matter, and he didn't want to upset her by arguing with her either. Instead he just held onto her and offered her whatever comfort he could with his touch. They curled together like animals, talking quietly and measuring the passage of time by her pains which slowly grew stronger. The only sign of Belle's increased discomfort was her breathing which grew unsteady during the pains as he rubbed her belly, trying to ease away the tension in her muscles.

"I love you so much," he breathed into her hair, feeling Rose moving beneath his palms, and he was holding his entire universe in his arms.

"I love you too," Belle whispered back, covering his hands with hers as they included their daughter in the conversation. "I'm going to be all right, you know."

"I know," he said hoarsely, trying to believe her.

The night seemed endless but the sun finally rose, letting him see his wife's flushed face and shining eyes. Despite the pain she had to be feeling, Belle looked peaceful, and he could almost trust that this would go well.

Although the thought of food made him nauseous, he insisted that she eat something, knowing she'd need all her strength for the upcoming battle. The fact that she didn't complain when he wanted her to stay in bed while he cooked for her was evidence enough that Belle wasn't as sanguine about what was happening as she appeared. Although she ate the eggs he prepared for her without protest, her gaze seemed slightly unfocused, like her mind was a million miles away, and Gold again picked up his litany of prayer, 'Please. _Please_.'

Somehow it hadn't occurred to him that going to fetch Granny meant leaving Belle alone while he did, and his heart nearly stopped at the thought. Imp was fast and well-conditioned, but it would still take over an hour to cover the twelve mile round trip. _Anything_ could happen in an hour.

"I'll be fine," Belle assured him when he voiced the thought. Her pains were coming every ten minutes or so and the thought of her enduring even one without him at her side chilled him. She looked down at their clasped hands and pointed out, "It's not going to get easier if we wait."

The nervousness in her eyes decided him. His Belle needed help, and she needed it now. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he vowed, helping her move from the bed to her rocking chair at her request. Her chestnut hair was secured in a long braid, the swell of her belly clearly outlined by her white chemise, and his little Belle looked like an angel, so beautiful it made his chest ache. "Do you need anything?"

She shook her head, her voice a little breathless. "There's no way I could read right now."

He kissed her, sweet and gentle. "I love you. I'll be back soon."

Saddling Imp felt like a waste of time, but he did it anyway, knowing he'd regret it if he didn't. Breaking his neck would _not_ help Belle. Nor would it do any good to push Imp until he foundered. He kept their pace brisk, alternating between a trot and a canter that ate up the six miles at a decent clip that still seemed to take hours. Gold had never been happier to see anything than he was to see the Lucas home.

He dismounted and was up the porch steps in a heartbeat, slamming his fist against the doorframe, and it took concentrated effort to resist the urge to keep pounding until Granny answered. Plastering himself against the door, he strained his ears for any sign of movement inside as he waited what seemed like an eternity, wondering if he could get away with simply breaking it down with his shoulder and hauling the older woman out bodily. Finally the door opened, and he nearly fell into the house.

"Belle's having the baby," Granny diagnosed before he could open his mouth. "Go home. I'll get my things and follow you."

He managed to mumble a thank you before he was back on Imp, the horse dancing under him as he sensed his master's impatience. Gold wasn't sure which of them was more relieved when they reached the edge of town and he was able to let the horse have his head, galloping full-tilt back to the cabin and only dropping to a walk when it was absolutely necessary.

Once they reached it, Gold dismounted and sprinted for the door before Imp had even finished moving, relief leaving him light-headed when he saw Belle in the rocking chair where he'd left her, looking flushed but calm. He stumbled to her side, falling to his knees beside her and resting his hand on her swollen belly. "Granny's on her way," he assured her, feeling Rose's strong movements within her, "How are you feeling?"

Belle cradled his face in her hands, leaning down to kiss him before sitting back with a wince. "I'm fine, but Imp won't be if you don't cool him down."

"As soon as Granny-" he started to assure her, but Belle cut him off, her eyes flashing with determination.

"Now. You'll do it now. I'll call if I need you." Her jaw was set, but Gold attempted to argue anyway.

"Belle-"

"Now!" She pointed imperiously at the door to send him on his way, and Gold went, compromising by leading Imp back and forth in front of the house, stealing glances through the open door on every pass. After a few minutes. Belle came to lean in the doorway and watch him. "I'm still fine," she called as soon as he spotted her.

She did accept the offer of his arm to lean on as she came to the barn with him, pacing as she watched him groom Imp. "Belle?"

She braced her hands against her lower back, her smile strained. "Just a little restless," she assured him.

Gold left off what he was doing to wrap his arms around her, one hand going to the small of her back and rubbing in slow circles. Belle sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "That feels good."

"What can I do, Belle?" he pleaded, the sight of his wife in pain more than he could bear. "How can I help?"

"You _are_ helping," she told him, nudging him to finish what he'd started. She leaned against Dulcinea's stall to talk with her four-legged friend as he finished with Imp, rewarding the horse with oats for his earlier efforts.

"Ready to go back in?" he asked as soon as he was done. While he appreciated having Belle where he could see her, he'd feel better once she was sitting down and resting again.

Belle shook her head. "I need some air. Can we walk in the garden?"

He swallowed a sigh and acquiesced. At least she wasn't trying to get rid of him, and if she let him remain by her side, he'd agree to whatever she wanted. Belle took his arm as they inspected the work he'd done under her supervision, determined that this year their yield would be slightly more impressive than what they'd ended up with in the fall. She leaned on him when the pains came, and he supported her weight, whispering reassurances into her hair as she moaned quietly. "Oh, Belle..."

"I'm all right," she tried to smile. "I think I want to sit down though."

All Gold wanted to do was pick her up and carry her back to bed, but he didn't trust his knee. Instead he kept his arm tightly around her, breathing easily only when she was safely ensconced in her rocking chair again. He sat down at her feet and pressed a kiss to her stomach, whispering to Rose. "I can't wait to meet you, sweetheart. Just _please_ be kind to your mama."

Belle stroked his hair, and they sat quietly together until a brief knock heralded Granny's arrival. They both stood to greet her, the older woman simply letting herself in and immediately approaching Belle. "You're looking well, dear," she pronounced, her voice infused with calm command that immediately eased Gold's nerves. Belle grasped the older woman's hands with a smile that helped even more right until the moment Granny turned to him. "All right, Mr. Gold, I'm sure you can find something to occupy yourself with outside."

His entire body tensed at the dismissal. "I won't leave her." He knew a birthing room was no place for a man, but he couldn't leave her side. If his Belle needed him, he _had_ to be there.

She patted his shoulder in a way that was meant to be comforting. "This is woman's business."

"I will _not_ leave my wife." It was nearly a growl, but Granny held her ground, looking at him as she would a misbehaving child.

"There's nothing you can do here-" Granny explained, but he stopped listening when he heard Belle inhale sharply. Edging the older woman out of the way, he took her in his arms, rubbing her lower back soothingly as her fingers dug into his shoulders, her forehead resting against his neck.

"Easy, Belle, easy," he whispered, her soft whimpers of pain breaking his heart, "I'm here; I've got you. You're being so brave."

He kept talking to her until he could feel her muscles relax as the pain ended. He held her a moment longer, wishing there was more he could do, then released her and turned back to Granny who was looking at him like she'd never seen him before. "Do you want him here?" she asked Belle who nodded at once much to his relief, "If I tell you to do something-"

"I'll do it," he vowed. He do anything she said, follow any order, do _anything_ to help his little Belle through this. There was no price he wouldn't pay to keep her with him.

As the hours passed, it became clear that there was little enough he could do. He rubbed her back and held her close, wishing he could protect her from this. He supported her when she needed to walk and fetched water for Granny when commanded although being away from Belle's side even for an instant nearly drove him mad. He _had_ to be with her. The only good thing about those errands was that they gave him a chance to lose the meagre contents of his stomach without Belle seeing him.

Through it all, Belle was heartbreakingly brave. She smiled at him, spoke cheerfully with both him and Granny between the pains, and when she held his hand Gold thought it was as much for his sake as for hers. It wasn't until her water broke sometime well into the afternoon that her composure began to erode.

By nightfall the pains were coming fast and hard, her small body trembling with the force of them, and he held her close as he babbled words of praise and reassurance, trying desperately to comfort his wife as she moaned in pain.

"You're doing a fine job, Belle," Granny told her from somewhere between her legs. "It won't be much longer."

She curled tighter into the circle of his arms, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt and pulling, all but strangling him. Gold couldn't have cared less. He rocked her, feeling the tension in her muscles, and his heart broke for her. His sweet, gentle Belle shouldn't have to endure this. "It's almost over, love," he whispered into her hair, not sure if she could hear him over the pained noises she was making, "Rose is almost here."

She nodded, muffling a cry against his neck, and he hid his tears in her hair as he prayed incoherently that this would be over soon and Belle and Rose would both be safe.

What could have been moments or hours later, Belle all but convulsed in his arms, then she was sitting up straighter, her moans taking on a panicked edge. "You're all right, Belle. You're all right," Granny assured her, helping her to place her feet flat on the mattress and part her legs, "Go ahead and push if you want to."

He got behind her, letting her lean on him as she grabbed for his hand, her grip strong enough to break bone. Gold was grateful for the pain; at least now he was sharing it with her. "You're almost done, Belle," he told her, "You're going to be holding Rose so soon."

"Anthony..." There was fear in her voice and it broke his heart. "Don't let me go."

"_Never_," he vowed, barely aware of the tears on his face, "I'll never let you go. I won't let anything happen to you or Rose."

The promise seemed to help, because Belle calmed, her breathing evening out as she pushed, and he could feel her muscles quivering with the effort she was putting into birthing their daughter. He rubbed her neck and whispered encouragement, wincing as she cried out at the end of the push. "My brave little Belle. I'm so proud of you, love."

They seemed to have more time between the pains now, and she rested her head on his shoulder, half-asleep as he stroked her hair and blotted her forehead with a damp cloth. Soon enough it started again, and he gave her his hand to squeeze, wishing he could share his own strength with her. He'd do anything to spare his Belle this. _Anything_.

Gold flinched when she cried out, but Granny seemed pleased. "She's coming down beautifully, Belle. You're doing a wonderful job."

"I can feel her!" she gasped, turning her head to meet his eyes, her face alight with wonder. He tried to smile at her as she panted through the break in the pains, lifting her hand to his mouth to kiss it.

"I love you so much," he murmured, trying to keep some control of his emotions. Belle needed him to be strong for her, and he would not let her down.

Angel that she was, she managed a smile for him. "I love you too." He had to kiss her at that, breaking away only when she gasped into his mouth as another pain started.

He helped her sit up more as she leaned into the push, whispering into her ear, "You're doing beautifully, Belle. It's almost over, love. Rose is almost here."

Despite his words, Rose seemed determined to make a liar out of him. Time had lost all meaning for Gold, his world comprised solely of Belle's struggle which seemed never-ending. She was silent as she pushed, the only sound in the room his quiet encouragement and Granny's guidance as she assured both of them that everything was happening just as it should. He kept rubbing her back, trying to relieve any discomfort he could and feeling absolutely helpless. His wife was exhausted and in agony, and it was his fault, and there was _nothing_ he could do for her.

Belle screamed suddenly- a full-throated, terrifying sound- and he clutched her closer, convinced something had gone horribly wrong at last. 'Not Belle, not my Belle,' he begged any higher power who might be listening, 'Let her stay. Take me instead. Please, oh _please_, not my Belle.'

"That's her head, Belle," Granny said cheerfully, nudging her chemise up a bit more, "She's almost here."

"It _burns_," Belle blurted, sounding more affronted than pained.

"It does do," Granny agreed, "A couple more pushes and she'll be out and you won't remember. Ready?"

"We're going to be parents," Belle beamed at him, and all he could do was gape at her. He managed a stunned nod, which she seemed to deem an acceptable response, then she was pushing again, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from this incredible creature who was somehow his.

She gasped, and before he had time to panic, Granny was providing an update. "Her head's out, Belle. One more big push and you're done."

Another push, and Belle cried out, a sound that was more joy and triumph than pain, and Granny sat back, a bloody little goblin in her hands. "Rose!" she sobbed, and his mouth found hers as he tried to wipe away her tears, oblivious to the fact that he was crying too.

He tore himself away from her a heartbeat later when he registered what he was hearing: absolutely nothing. No lusty wail split the air. Nothing disturbed the profound silence.

Belle was fine, but their daughter wasn't making a sound.

* * *

One moment Belle was flying in the heights of rapture as she felt her daughter slide free of her body, their precious Rose ready to meet them at last. The next moment she was sinking into the depths of terror when no cry met her ears. Babies were supposed to cry after they were born.

"_Why isn't she crying?_" she demanded, hysterical tears clogging her throat as her husband lunged forward, snatching their daughter out of Granny's hands. In an instant, he had her tiny body wrapped in the small pink afghan Belle had knitted, cradling her to his chest with one arm as he dipped his finger into her mouth. Pulling his finger out of her mouth, he rubbed her chest briskly, leaning close to blow a gust of air into her face.

Rose immediately started to scream.

"There we are, princess, there we are. That's a good girl," he crooned, his face going slack with relief. "Here's your mama." He placed her carefully in Belle's hands, keeping his arms around both of them as he rested his head on her shoulder to beam down at their daughter, apparently oblivious to the fact he'd done anything unusual.

Only having her daughter in her arms could tear Belle's attention from her husband. She gazed in disbelief at Rose, tears pouring down her face at the gooey little creature she was holding. Rose's small face was bright red and outraged as she wailed, and Belle had never seen a more beautiful sight. "She's _perfect_."

"Yes, she is," her husband agreed, his voice thick as he carefully touched her cheek. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm your papa."

"Belle, can you give me one more push for the afterbirth?" Granny asked, and she obeyed without thinking, too enraptured by Rose to concentrate on anything else. There was a brief flurry of activity as Granny tied off Rose's cord and showed Anthony where to cut it before helping Belle wipe the blood off of the baby and guide her to her breast.

Soon enough Belle was comfortably ensconced in clean linens with her daughter at her breast and her husband's arms around both of them as they marveled at the new life they'd created. "I've been wanting to meet you for so long. You're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be."

With blue eyes, a great deal of dark hair, and a perfect little rosebud mouth, their daughter was the most beautiful baby in the universe. Belle traced her finger lightly over her tiny nose, thinking she could see a trace of her husband in it.

Rose grunted as she sucked hungrily, and her husband chuckled. "Little pig," he said fondly.

"I thought she was a princess," Belle teased, snuggling as close to him as she could get without disturbing Rose's meal.

"Not making those noises she's not," he countered. With gentle fingers he stroked Rose's hair as he pressed a long kiss to Belle's temple. "You're amazing," he said fervently.

"How did you know to do that?" she asked, finally coming out of her Rose-induced haze enough to think about what had happened. Although it had felt like hours, in truth less than a minute had passed between Rose's birth and her husband depositing a crying baby in her arms. He'd sprung into action with no hesitation; Granny hadn't even had time to react. "When she wasn't crying?"

"It used to happen to Bae," he told her candidly, "For the first few months, he was sickly. He'd stop breathing sometimes, but that always got him started again. But _you're_ not sickly, are you, princess? You're a fine, strong girl, just like your mama." He returned his attention to Rose as Belle gazed at him, amazed at this new side of her husband.

"I wish I could have known him," she murmured, and he smiled wistfully. Had Bae lived, her stepson would have been older than she was, but in her head, Belle couldn't help but see their family completed by a boy who was forever thirteen.

"He would have _loved_ you," her husband told her, "Absolutely adored you. And Rose. He would have loved having a baby sister."

"We'll tell her about him. About her big brother," Belle said suddenly. Bae might not be with them, but he was a part of this family. He wouldn't be forgotten.

"Thank you, love." He pressed a kiss to the side of her face.

Belle turned her head to catch his mouth. "For what?"

He shook his head helplessly, his eyes bright. "For _everything_. For Rose. For staying with me. For being you."

They were so caught up in each other and their daughter that Belle barely noticed Granny setting the cabin to rights until the older woman came to say her goodbyes. "I've started a stew for you; it'll be ready whenever you're hungry," she said briskly, giving Belle a stern look, "You're not to get out of bed more than you have to for the next few days. I'll be back to check on you day after tomorrow."

She nodded at Anthony. "I'm leaving you in good hands."

Belle caught her hand, tears flooding her eyes, "Thank you, Granny."

"Don't fuss. You're the one who did all the real work." Despite her words, Granny's voice was warm with affection as she sat down on the edge of the bed to pull Belle into an embrace. "You're my girl, Belle, just as much as Ruby is. I'm so proud of you."

She kissed Belle's forehead and leaned down to kiss Rose as well. "You two just enjoy your little one. She's a beauty."

Belle was eager to take her advice. Despite the exhaustions of the day, she couldn't bring herself to sleep, too caught up in simply looking at Rose. Her husband seemed to feel the same way, and even when they did fall asleep, it was with the baby in her arms, Belle unwilling to be separated from her daughter by even a few feet.

She awoke with her arms empty and nearly panicked until she heard her husband speaking softly. Turning her head to watch him surreptitiously, her breath caught as she saw him sitting in the moonlight, Rose cradled against his bare chest as he traced every detail of her face with one long finger. "That's my sweet girl. Papa's got you. Papa loves you. You know my voice, don't you, princess? I've been talking to you for months," he crooned, his voice a low rumble, "Thank you for being a good girl and taking care of your mama. You scared me though; I don't want anything happening to you either."

He bent down to press a tender kiss to Rose's forehead. "That's all over now though, isn't it, sweetheart? You won't do that again. You're my strong little lass, and I'm going to protect you. I will never, _never_ let anything happen to you or your mama." Tears were running silently down Belle's face, but she didn't move to wipe them away, not wanting to interrupt the moment. "You have your mama's pretty eyes; I was hoping you would. You're going to look just like her when you get older, and if any boy comes sniffing around you, I will shoot him."

The last was said in the same sweet, singsong tone as everything else, and it took a moment for the words to register. Once they did, Belle was unable to hold back her snuffly laugh. Her husband glanced down at her in surprise, then shrugged ruefully when he realized she'd heard him. "No unworthy cowboy's going to be running off with my girl," he informed her.

Belle sat up, wincing a little. She was sore from the birth and so happy that she didn't care. "How about a gunslinger?" she suggested, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder so she could gaze down at their daughter. "I've heard they make _excellent_ husbands." At that he turned his head to capture her lips, and they traded kisses in the moonlight, their daughter held safe in his strong hands.

For all the work he'd put into it, they didn't get much use out of the cradle during Rose's first few weeks of life. One of them was constantly holding her, and Belle had never been more grateful for her husband. Feeding Rose might have been her job, but his past experience meant he knew how to do everything else from burping to bathing to changing. Inexperience made Belle clumsy, but her husband was an expert, however out of practice, and she was learning quickly under his tutelage.

The first month passed in a blur. Belle was constantly exhausted, perpetually confused, and absolutely euphoric. Having a baby was a thousand times more work than she'd expected, but she wouldn't have traded a moment when Rose gazed up at her with trusting blue eyes, her little mouth opening in a yawn.

"She looks more like you every day," her husband told her, his tone making it clear that he could think of no higher compliment to pay the baby.

"She's the most beautiful thing in the word," Belle said fervently.

"A close second anyway," he replied, his voice husky, and she blushed as his meaning registered.

When Ruby repeated the sentiment the next day, Belle's eyes met her husband's and the frank admiration in them sent a shiver through her. Granny had told them to wait six weeks before resuming their _activities_, and the restriction was starting to chafe a bit. She tried to concentrate on her friend instead as Ruby cuddled her goddaughter, exclaiming over Rose's tiny fingernails. "She's so precious! Oh, I can't _wait_ to have one of my own," she sighed, shooting Pastor Hopper a meaningful look.

The pastor blushed and cleared his throat loudly, glancing at her and Ruby. Belle bent her head over Rose, shamelessly eavesdropping as Hopper scooted his chair closer to her husband's. "Ruby really wants a baby," he confided in a low voice, and she should be ashamed of herself for listening in.

Belle could easily envision the look of dismay on her husband's face as he made a noncommittal noise. Hopper went on, sounding a little desperate, "We're trying, but I don't know- How do I-?"

"Just... keep doing what you're doing," her husband cut him off, sounding like he'd rather be _anywhere_ else. "And maybe... do it more often."

"Thank you," the pastor said sincerely, and Belle had to bite her lip to keep from giggling as she returned her attention to what Ruby was saying. Her poor husband hadn't had a clue what he was letting himself in for by marrying her. If he had, he'd have run a mile.

Although Granny and the Hoppers were regular visitors, they kept to a strict schedule. Granny came to see them on Mondays and Thursdays, while the Hoppers visited on Wednesdays and Sundays. After Belle told her friend just what she'd interrupted a year ago when she and Pastor Hopper came to verify that she was still alive, they'd set a schedule in interest of avoiding a repeat performance. Currently, they were unlikely to interrupt more than the two of them making an embarrassing fuss over Rose's every movement, but the six weeks _were_ nearly up. It was better to be safe than sorry.

With that schedule set, the sound of hoofbeats outside the cabin on a Friday afternoon came as something of a surprise. They'd been in the garden when they heard it, Anthony gently teasing Rose with a buttercup before doing the same to Belle herself, stealing kisses from both his girls, when they heard the approaching horse, exchanging a look of consternation.

He clambered to his feet, taking Rose from her long enough to help her stand up, and motioned for her to stay where she was. Checking his pistol, he indicated that she should stay silent, and Belle cuddled Rose closer to her as she moved into the shadows around the house. It was probably nothing. It was almost certainly nothing, but he worried for her safety and Rose's, and Belle wasn't fool enough to think that they were untouchable. Her husband's checkered past had left him with enemies, but she wasn't afraid. He would let no harm come to her or Rose. He'd promised.

Belle closed her eyes and strained her ears as he eased around the house, trying to brace herself for anything she might hear. Quiet voices met her ears, and although the second voice seemed familiar, she couldn't quite place it.

"Belle?" her husband came back around the cabin, his posture stiff, "You have a visitor."

The reason for his flat tone became readily apparent when Moe French came into view, his eyes immediately searching out her and the baby. Swallowing hard, Belle stepped out of the shadows, a little surprised when her husband didn't come to her side. Instead he stopped half a dozen paces away, remaining off to the side with his body tense, clearly ready to plant himself between her and her father at the first sign of trouble.

Moe French took the hint and came to a halt before crossing the invisible line her husband had drawn. He looked from her face to the baby in her arms and back, his expression unreadable. His eyes were clear, his back straighter than it had been since Belle was a girl, and although the years of drunkenness had aged him, at that moment he looked more like the papa she'd once known than he had in ages.

"Hello, papa," she said cautiously, maintaining her own distance. She loved her father; she always would, but she couldn't bring herself to trust him when the last time they'd met he'd been so disdainful of her husband. Not when he hadn't shown the slightest bit of interest in her pregnancy or in Rose. Anthony and Rose were her family now, and her loyalty was to them.

He stood and crushed his hat in his hands, no doubt destroying the brim. "Hello, Belle."

After a moment of staring he tried to smile, "You look wonderful." Raising his eyebrows, he nodded at the baby, "And this... is Rose?"

Belle adjusted her grip on Rose so he could see her more clearly, still not stepping closer. "This is Rose Grace Gold," she introduced, watching to see his reaction to the name.

"For your mother." His voice was hoarse, his eyes glittering in the sun, "It's a beautiful name."

"It was Anthony's idea," she said pointedly, glancing at her husband who'd chosen that moment to look at her. Their eyes met and held, the warmth of his gaze a near-palpable caress. Her lips curved into a smile she didn't want to suppress, letting every bit of love she felt for him show in her face.

"I'm sorry." The words were almost inaudible and directed at her husband. Moe French took a few stumbling steps forward, approaching the other man, "I... I didn't understand. I was afraid you'd hurt her."

"I won't," he replied simply, and the sincerity in the words was unmistakable.

Rather desperately, Moe French held out his hand, and Belle held her breath until her husband shook it, the two men coming to some kind of silent agreement. He stepped back with a respectful nod and turned to her, his face alight with hope. "I... don't suppose you still want an old fool's blessing, do you, Belle?"

"No," she said softly, and his shoulders slumped. "But I would very much like my papa's blessing."

"Then you have it." He cleared his throat loudly, swiping his hand over his eyes, "I'd say I hope you'll be happy, but you already are, aren't you?"

She nodded, fighting back tears of her own. In her arms, Rose stirred, and she automatically shushed the baby, looking up to see her father's eyes riveted to her. "I haven't taken a drink since the day she was born," he told her, never looking away from Rose. "I... You deserved better, Belle. I'm sorry."

Smiling through her tears, Belle beckoned him closer. "Come meet your granddaughter, papa."

The conversation was stilted and awkward, and she and her husband reached a silent understanding that Moe French would not be permitted to hold Rose, but by the time her father left an hour later, Belle felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. He was trying. Only time would tell if he'd be able to stay away from the bottle, but he was _trying_, and she finally had hope that her father would one day be able to take his proper place in this family.

As she lay in her husband's arms that night, Rose peacefully asleep in her cradle, she voiced the thought aloud. "Will you mind it? Having him around more?"

He sighed and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "He _hit_ you."

"Once," she reminded him, "It was an accident." As upset as she'd been when he struck her, what had happened afterward was worse. His attempt to marry her off to George and his refusal to accept her marriage had hurt her more than any blow. Yet, he'd apologized for that. If he truly saw the error of his ways, she couldn't hold a grudge.

Her husband pulled her closer, wrapping himself around her protectively. "I'd rather he not be alone with you. Or Rose."

"All right," she agreed. Perhaps some day she'd be comfortable leaving her father with his granddaughter, but she certainly wasn't ready to do that yet. She couldn't blame her husband for feeling the same way about her.

With that decided she leaned up for a kiss, moaning as he slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring every crevice with hungry absorption. When she moved closer and trailed her hands over his back in a quest for more interesting places, he eased her away, dropping a quick kiss on the tip of her nose when she pouted at him. "One week to go, love."

"I feel fine," she promised, pressing her swollen breasts against his chest. After only a moment she had to pull away, finding herself more sore from nursing than she'd realized.

He leaned down to press a tender kiss to the swell of each one, shaking his head regretfully. "I won't hurt you, my little Belle." As he said the words, his face changed, his eyes widening slightly as he repeated the words, "I won't hurt you."

Belle caught her breath as she registered the change in his tone. This was the moment she'd been waiting more than a year for. She'd finally made a believer out of her husband. He had accepted what she'd always known: he wouldn't hurt her. She beamed at him, her eyes burning, "No. You won't."

He nodded, sheer joy gradually overwriting his stunned expression. "I'll.. I'll make you happy."

"You do," she said at once, and then they were kissing again, and Belle had everything she'd ever wanted. She had her father back in her life, her husband confident at last that he wasn't bad for her, and the most beautiful daughter in the world.

She had never been happier in her life, and even when said beautiful daughter began to wail, pulling the pair of them apart, Belle couldn't find it in her to be irritated. Her husband retrieved the baby from her cradle, placing her in Belle's arms and arranging himself behind her so he could hold both of them as she fed Rose.

"You've given me everything, love," he murmured into her hair, "I was afraid to even dream about this because I knew it could never happen, but... I love you, Belle."

"I love you, Anthony." She turned her head to kiss his cheek, his stubble prickly against her lips. It echoed another kiss from a lifetime ago, and she smiled a little when she thought about how nervous she'd been when she kissed him the night he saved her from George's unwelcome attentions. "What did you think when I kissed you that night? The night George grabbed me?"

He chuckled, ducking his head to trail kisses down her throat. "I was thinking about what you'd do if I climbed in your window."

Charmed by the image, Belle giggled, "What did you decide?"

"That you'd probably scream and slap me," he replied as he began to worry the spot where her neck met her shoulder with his teeth. It was exactly what she'd daydreamed about him doing that night and so much better than she'd ever imagined.

"I don't know about slapping you," she said breathlessly, leaning into the caress, "But if you'd done this, I'm sure I would have screamed for you eventually."

"You're killing me, love," he ground out, resting his forehead on her shoulder, and Rose stirred in her arms, her parents' antics disturbing her meal.

"One more week," she promised, shifting the baby into a more comfortable position and taking a deep breath to calm herself. It wasn't fair that he could arouse her so much by doing so little. Then again, she clearly did the same thing to him.

"I've waited a lifetime for you, my little Belle." He pressed another kiss to her throat, tender and full of promise. "I can wait another week."

He tightened his hold on her, and she nestled into his embrace, feeling warm and protected and very well-loved in the arms of the one man who'd always treated her like a lady. Belle French had been a lady, but Belle Gold was a woman- _his_ woman- and she wouldn't have it any other way.


	12. Epilogue

**Ten years later...**

"There you go," Belle said as she dabbed at the stitches she'd just finished putting in little Ethan Nolan's temple. "And remember that climbing trees is one thing. Getting out of them is something else."

The little boy nodded, abashed, as his mother, the proprietress of Storybrooke's schoolhouse thanked Belle profusely. She escorted the boy out with confusing promises of treats for being good for Doctor Gold and threats of punishment for climbing a forbidden tree in the first place, having to pick their way around the tea party currently occurring just inside the door of the cabin.

Rose was presiding over the the proceedings, her chestnut curls neatly tied back and cascading over her shoulders. The years had fulfilled their promise of turning her into a miniature version of her mother with the exception of the sharp nose she'd inherited from him. Seven year old Lydia who favored him with her dark hair and eyes was doing her best to mimic her older sister, both of them trying futilely to involve Eleanor in the game. At two, Ellie seemed far more interested in gnawing on Beauty, the prized rag doll that had been passed down the line and was now looking somewhat worse for wear.

Gold had attempted to replace the doll twice over the years. The girls had thanked him prettily for the new dolls and promptly ignored them. They preferred their Beauty. By this point, he'd given up. No matter how much time he spent with his wife and three daughters, he would _never_ understand how the female mind worked.

With a sigh, Belle took a seat next to him at the table, picking up the cup of tea he'd made for her while she put the Nolan boy back together. She swallowed with a moan of bliss that still made his heart quicken, then leaned over to kiss his cheek and ruffle William's hair. The four year old was a carbon copy of Belle in everything but gender and far easier for Gold to understand than his precious girls. At the moment, he had the boy on his lap and was attempting to teach him to shuffle a deck of cards, a task not going particularly well due to William's clumsy little hands. Still, the boy seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Isn't he a little young to gamble?" Belle asked with a raised eyebrow, and he grinned at her.

"Every man needs to know how to play poker. It certainly served _me_ well," he reminded her. thinking back on their unusual courtship. It seemed like only yesterday he'd been facing down George Clary over one last hand with Belle as the prize. So much had changed since that night: the one-room cabin he'd brought his new bride home to had tripled in size with the help of Archie Hopper and Moe French, and while the residents of Storybrooke still didn't seek out his company, no one seemed particularly interested in avoiding him anymore either. It was difficult to be intimidated by a man who constantly had a toddler clinging to his leg as all of their four had been wont to do.

Four soon to be five, he allowed as he admired his wife. Belle wasn't showing yet, but it wouldn't be long now until her body blossomed into the soft curves he found it impossible to keep his hands off of. Not that he had much luck keeping his hands to himself under normal circumstances. That was one thing that _hadn't_ changed.

Gold would never be the sort of man who could rest easily when his wife was expecting, but Belle had come through each delivery unscathed, never suffering so much as a fever. She'd vowed to stay with him forever, and as the years passed, it looked more and more like she'd keep her promise. His little Belle would be at his side always, and no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Belle smiled back then turned to look at their children. The tea party had turned into a tower-building competition using teacups as building blocks. The game was brought to a swift halt when Ellie decided she wanted to play too and brought the whole thing crashing down. "Mama!" Lydia's voice was affronted as she and Rose picked up the detritus, "Ellie chipped a cup!"

Gold had always been under the impression that little girls were sweet and shy, but their three had a positive knack for destruction. The only surprise was that only one cup had chipped. "It's just a cup," he assured Lydia, releasing William who wanted to investigate the crash.

"Were you expecting _this_ when you won me?" Belle teased, taking William's place on his lap. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to the curve of her throat.

"I thought it would take you a decade or two just to forgive me for that," he admitted. He would have been content just to have her in the same house and smiling at him. What she'd given him was so much more. He had a _family_ again. He'd never stop missing Bae, but he'd finally found a measure of peace with his loss and what had happened afterward. He wasn't that man anymore.

When Gold looked in his shaving mirror, a monster no longer stared back at him. Instead he met the eyes of a husband and father, rather weather-beaten and with more gray in his hair than he liked to see, but no more or less than that.

Belle pouted at his answer, her eyes dancing. "Should I have held out longer? Made you court me for a year or two first?"

With a groan, he buried his face against her neck. "Courting you for two _weeks_ nearly drove me mad. If you'd made me wait a year, you'd have been visiting me in the asylum."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "True. And you did have a nine year head start."

Gold had worshipped the woman in his arms for two decades and still couldn't believe his good fortune when he opened his eyes each morning to see her beside him. Belle was his world and their children treasures he'd never expected to have, the greatest gifts any man could be given whether he was worthy of them or not. Privately, he still thought Belle could have done better than marry him, but he'd learned to keep that thought to himself. He made her happy, and if she was satisfied with him, he wasn't about to argue with her.

He slid his fingers into his wife's chestnut curls, pulling her down for a kiss that was interrupted far too soon by Lydia's stage-whisper. "They're kissing. Again."

Neither William nor Ellie seemed interested, but Rose sighed with happiness, still too young to be embarrassed by her parents' shows of affection. "Tell us the story," she pleaded.

Belle eased out of the kiss but stayed where she was, regarding their eldest with amused tolerance. "You've heard it a hundred times." Rose was nearly as bookish as her mother, but nothing made her happier than to have a story told to her, and her favorite had always been the story about how her mama saved her papa's life, and he saved her from a beast.

"_Please_," Rose pleaded, and Belle rubbed her nose against his as their children drew closer. There was no getting out of it now. Not that he really wanted to.

When his wife nodded at him to start the tale, he brushed his lips against hers and took a deep breath, beginning, "Once upon a time..."

_The End_

* * *

_I want to thank everyone who's come along on this journey with Belle and Mr. Gold. It's thanks to your support and good wishes that this story grew from a silly little one shot to the novel you have before you. I hope you came to love these characters as much as I did. I'm going to take a break from the Old West to concentrate on other projects, but I hope you'll join me later for the sequel "A Symphony of Vengeance." Whereas "Bullets" took a look at the inner conflicts in Belle and Gold's relationship, "Symphony" will widen the canvas a bit and let some external forces wreak havoc. After all, Mr. Gold is not a well-loved man, and the past sometimes comes calling. Until then- cheers! _


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